Chapter Twenty Two.

Chapter Twenty Two.The Hermit comes out of his cell.Mansfield never flattered himself that Templeton would right itself by a single turn of his hand, nor did he flatter himself that Templeton would ever love Jupiter as they had loved the old Saturn who had preceded him. And in neither expectation was he out of his reckoning.After a week or two the sole result of the newrégimeseemed to be that the bad lot had plunged further into their evil ways. The “Select Sociables” had increased the number of their members to thirty, and made it an indispensable qualification for every candidate that he should have suffered punishment at the hands of the masters or monitors. It got to be known that it was war to the knife, and fellows flocked to the post of danger and begged to be admitted to the club.All this Mansfield saw, but it did not disconcert him. He was glad to see a clear line being drawn, which made it impossible for any but the practised hypocrites to hang out false colours and pretend to be what they were not. It was half the battle to the Captain to know exactly who were friends and who were enemies.He may sometimes have thought, with a passing sigh, of the affection which everybody, good and bad, had had for dear old Ponty, and wished he could expect as much. But he dashed the thought aside as folly. His duty was to make war on rebels, not to win them over by blandishments.So he set his face like steel to the work, and made the name of monitor a caution in Templeton. And, it is fair to say, he was well backed up. Cresswell, Cartwright, Swinstead, and others of their sort rallied round him, and, at the risk of their own popularity, and sometimes against their better judgment, took up the rule of iron. Even the hermit Freckleton came out of his den now and then on the side of justice.The cad Bull, who had neither the wit nor the temper to play a double part, threw up his monitorship in disgust and went over to the enemy, carrying with him one or two of the empty heads of the Fifth. Pledge alone looked on the whole revolution as a joke.But even Pledge found it hard to make a case against the new rulers; for, if their severity was great, their justice was still greater. If they spared no one else, neither did they spare themselves. There was something almost ferociously honest and upright about Mansfield, and his lieutenants soon caught his spirit and made it impossible for anyone, even for Pledge, to point at them and say that either fear or favour moved them.It was probably on this very account that Pledge deemed it well to treat the new state of things as a comedy, and not with serious attention.A monitors’ meeting was summoned for the morning after Pledge’s call on Mr Webster, and he attended it with a pleasant smile on his face, as one who was always glad to come and see how his schoolfellows amused themselves.The rest of the meeting was grim and serious.“It’s time we did something to put down this Club,” said Mansfield. “They are drawing in all sorts of fellows now, and the longer we put it off the worse it will be.”“What shall we do?” asked Freckleton.“I think we ought to be able to do it without going to Winter about it,” said Cresswell.“Would it do to start an opposition club?” suggested Swinstead.“Or make it penal for any fellow to belong to it,” said Cartwright.“Or send a deputation,” said Pledge, laughing, “and ask them please not to put the Sixth in such an awkward fix!”“You see,” said the captain, ignoring, as he usually did, Pledge’s sarcasms, “whatever we do, some are sure to be irreconcilable. I would like to give any who wish a chance of coming out, and then we shall know what to do with the rest. Does anyone know when they meet?”“I believe there’s a meeting this evening,” said Cartwright; “at least, my fag Coote told me a couple of days ago that he had a particular engagement this evening, and was sorry he couldn’t say what it was, for he’d promised never to speak of the Club to anyone, least of all to a monitor.”There was a general smile at the expense of the artless Coote, and then Mansfield said:—“Well, one of us had better go there and give them a caution. Will you go, Freckleton?”“I?” exclaimed the Hermit, aghast.“Yes, please, old man,” said the Captain; “you’d do it better than anyone.”“Wouldn’t you like me to go?” asked Pledge.“There’s one other thing I want to speak about,” said Mansfield. “There’s been a lot of breaking bounds lately among the juniors. I caught your fag yesterday, Cresswell, and gave him lines. Your fag too, Pledge, I have seen several times lately going out without leave.”“Dear me! how shocking!” said Pledge.“If monitors don’t see that their own fags keep the rules,” said Mansfield, “there’s not much chance of getting the school generally to keep them. In your case, Pledge, I happen to know you yourself gave Heathcote leave to go out more than once this term. I’m going to put a stop to that.”“Are you really?” said Pledge.“Yes,” said Mansfield, flashing with his eyes, but otherwise cool.Whereupon the meeting broke up.Freckleton had by no means a congenial task before him.All this term he had been unable to settle down in his hermit’s cell. Mansfield had always been bringing him out for this and that special duty, till he was becoming quite a public character; and, unfortunately for him, he had done the few services for which he had been told off so well, that Mansfield had no notion whatever of letting him crawl back to obscurity.The Captain knew what he was about in selecting the Hermit to open the campaign against the “Select Sociables.” A secret lawless society in a school is like a secret lawless society in a country—a pest to be dealt with carefully. Mansfield knew well enough that he himself was not the man to do it; nor was the downright Cresswell, nor the hot-headed Cartwright. It needed the wisdom of the serpent as well as the paw of the lion to do it, and if anyone was likely to succeed, it was Freckleton.For Freckleton, hermit as he was, seemed to know more about every fellow in Templeton than anyone else. Where and when he made their acquaintance, no one knew and no one inquired. But certain it was no one knew the weak points of this boy and the good points of that better than he. And, as we have seen already, he was a “dark” man; hardly anyone knew him. They knew he had won the Bishop’s Scholarship and was reputed prodigiously learned. For the rest, except that he was harmless and kindly, fellows hardly seemed to know him at all. The “Select Sociables” were in full congress. They had instituted a fine of a penny for non-attendance, which had worked wonders. And to-night every member was in his place, except only Heathcote and Coote, who, as the reader knows, had something else to think of just then.The behaviour of these two young gentlemen was giving the club some uneasiness. They were not alive to their duties as “Sociables.” And they had got into the abominable habit of obeying monitors and associating with questionable characters, such as Richardson, Aspinall, and the like.A motion had just been passed calling upon the two delinquents to appear at the next meeting and answer for their conduct, when the door opened and Freckleton entered.“Good evening, gentlemen,” said he. “I’m not sure if I’m a member, but I hope I don’t intrude.”The “Sociables” stared at him, half in anger, half in bewilderment, as he helped himself to a chair and sat down with his back to the door.“The fact is,” said he with a weary look, “I’ve lived such a retired life here, I hardly know where to find fellows I want. I’ve been hunting high and low for half a dozen fellows with brains in their heads, and someone told me if I came here I should find plenty.”There was a titter not unmingled with a few frowns, as the Hermit spread himself comfortably on his chair and looked round him.“It’s as hard to find a fellow with brains nowadays as it was for Diogenes to find an honest man, once. You know who Diogenes was, don’t you, Gossy?” added he, turning suddenly on that young bravo.Gosse blushed crimson at finding himself so unexpectedly singled out; and faltered out that he had forgotten.“Forgotten?” said Freckleton, joining in the general laugh at Gosse’s expense; “and you knew so well once! Ask Bull; he knows; he’s in the Sixth, andveryclever. Why, Bull (I hope he’s not present)—”Another laugh. For Bull sat in his place the size of life, with his bloated face almost as red as Gosse’s.“Bull actually found the Sixth so dull and unintellectual that he left us, in order to cultivate the acquaintance of Culver, and fellows of culture and scholarship like him. It was a great loss to us. We’ve hardly had an idea in the Sixth since Bull left.”This double hit greatly delighted the majority of the “Sociables;” scarcely less so than Bull’s red cheeks, and the gape with which Culver received the reference to himself.“You’re not wanted here,” Bull exclaimed; “get out!”“There! Isn’t that clever?” said the Hermit, in apparent admiration. “Did ever you hear a sentence so well put together, and so eloquently delivered. Why, not even the ‘too-too’ Wrangham (I hope Wrangham’s not here)—”Blushing was the order of the day. Wrangham tried hard to look unconcerned, but as the eyes of the Club turned round in his direction, the tell-tale roses came on his cadaverous cheeks and mounted to his forehead.“The ‘too-too’ Wrangham, who loves lilies because they are pure, and calls teapots ‘consummate’ because—well, I don’t exactly know why—he couldn’t have put his one idea so neatly—”“Look here, Freckleton,” said Spokes, feeling it due to the dignity of the Club to put an end to this scene; “this is a private meeting. You’ve no right to be here. Nobody wants you.”“Dear me! was that the silvery voice of toffee-loving Spokes?” said the Hermit, amid a shout of laughter; for everyone knew Spokes’s weak point. “He says ‘Look here!’ Really I cannot, until a sponge has been passed over the honest face and shorn it of some of its clinging sweetness. But, gentlemen of the ‘Select’—‘Select’ is the word, isn’t it?”“If you don’t go out, you’ll get chucked out,” said Bull.“Oh, wonderful English! wonderful elocution!” said the Hermit. “Ah, it is good to be here. Ah! he comes, he comes!”It was a critical moment as the burly Bull came down the room. Had he done so five minutes sooner Freckleton might have found himself single-handed. But already his genial banter had told among the more susceptible of his hearers, and he could count at any rate on fair play. For the rest, he had little anxiety.“Wait a moment,” said he, rising to his feet, and motioning to Bull to wait: “Sociables, Bull wants to fight me. Do you want me to fight him?”“Yes, yes,” shouted every one, delighted at the prospect of a fray, and many of them quite indifferent as to who conquered.“Very well, gentlemen,” said the Hermit; “I will obey you on one condition, and one only.”“What is it?” they shouted eagerly.“This: that if I beat Bull, you make me your president; or, if you think it fairer, if I beat Bull first and then Spokes, you elect me. What do you say?”The Hermit was staking high with a vengeance. Little had he dreamed, when he came down to have a little talk with the “Select Sociables,” of such a proposal. It was the sight of Bull walking down the room which had furnished the inspiration, and he was daring enough to seize the chance while he had it and risk all upon it.In his secret heart he was not absolutely sure of vanquishing his opponent. For Bull was a noted fighting man, and had made his mark in Templeton. The Hermit had never fought in his life. And yet he knew a little about boxing. He was strong, cool, and sound of wind; and knew enough of human nature to avoid the least appearance of doubt or hesitation in a crisis like this.“What do you say?” asked he.“Rather! If you lick, we’ll make you president,” shouted the Club.“As it is a business matter,” said Freckleton, “and will have to go on the minutes, wouldn’t it be well for someone to propose and second it?”Whereupon Braider proposed and someone else seconded the proposal, which was put to the meeting with due solemnity and carried unanimously.“Now,” said the Hermit, slowly divesting himself of his coat when the ceremony was concluded, “I’m at your service, Bull.”There was breathless silence for a moment as all eyes turned on the ex-monitor.The blushes had left his cheeks, and a pallor rather whiter than usual was there in their place. He stood, in a fascinated sort of way, watching Freckleton as he rolled the sleeves up above his elbows and divested himself of his collar. He had never imagined the “dark man” would face him, still less challenge him thus before the whole Club.The coward’s heart failed him when the moment came. He didn’t like the look of things. For an instant the crimson rushed back to his face, then, turning his back, he walked away.Instantly a storm of hissing and hooting rose from the club, such as had rarely been heard in the walls of Templeton. None are so indignant at cowards as those who are not quite sure of their own heroism, and Bull found it out.“Do I understand,” said Freckleton, as soon as he could get in a word, “that the Bull declines?”The Bull made no answer.“He funks it. Turn him out!” cried Gosse.The Hermit could not prevent a smile.“Does anyone second Mr Gosse’s motion?”“I do,” shouted Spokes, amid derisive laughter.“Then,” said Freckleton, opening the door, “we needn’t detain you, Bull, unless, on second thoughts—”Bull slunk out, followed by another howl, which drowned the Hermit’s words. When he had gone the latter put on his coat, and, walking up to the chair, which Spokes had prudently vacated, called the club to order and said:—“Gentlemen,—I beg to thank you for appointing me your president. I know it will be hard to follow worthily in the footsteps of the gentleman who has just left the room—(groans)—and of the gentleman who has just vacated this chair, leaving some of his sweetness behind him. (Derisive cheers.) Still, I would like to do something to help make this club a credit. I think we might look over the rules and see if we can get anything in which will keep cowards and cads out of the club. Of course that wouldn’t affect any of you, but it would help to keep us more select for the future. (Cheers.) In fact, I don’t see, gentlemen, why we shouldn’t make the club big enough to take in any fellow who, like all of you, hates cowardice, and meanness, and dirtiness, and that sort of thing. (Cheers, not unmixed with blushes.) We may not all think alike about everything, but, if we are all agreed it’s good form to be gentlemen, and honest and brave, I don’t see why we can’t be ‘Select Sociables’ still. We pride ourselves at Templeton on being one of the crack schools in the country. (Loud cheers.) Well, any lot of fellows who set up for the ‘Select’ here ought to be the crack of the crack—like you all, for instance. However, these are only suggestions. Now I’m your president I mean to work hard for the club and do my best—(cheers)—and I ask you to back me up. (Cheers.) I think, by way of a start, we might appoint a committee of, say, half a dozen, to look into the rules and see how they can be improved, and how the club can be made of most use to Templeton. What do you say?”Cheers greeted the suggestion, and several names were proposed. The six elected included Spokes and Braider, and it was evident, from the half-nervous, half-gratified manner in which these two undertook their new responsibilities, that the Hermit had found out the trick of bringing out the good points even of the most unpromising boys.The Club separated with cheers for the new president, and scarcely yet realising the transformation scene which he had made in their midst. A few, such as Wrangham, skulked off, but the majority took up the new order of things with ardour, and vied with one another in showing that they at any rate were bent on making the Club a credit.Freckleton meanwhile retired to report the success of his mission to Mansfield.“Well, have you got their names and cautioned them?” asked the Captain.“I’m very hot and thirsty,” said the Hermit, flinging himself down on a chair.“Yes, yes; but what about this bad club?”“Call it not bad, Jupiter, for I am its president.”“What! you its president!” cried the Captain, taking in the mystery at a bound. “You mean to say you’ve talked them over! By Jove! Freckleton, you ought to be Captain of Templeton.”“Thank you; I’ve quite enough to do as president of the ‘Select Sociables.’”And he then proceeded to give a modest history of the evening’s proceedings.Mansfield was delighted at every particular.“But suppose Bull had fought you,” said he, “where would you be now?”“Better off, I think,” said the Hermit. “It would have told better if I could really have knocked him down. However, I fancy it’s as well it didn’t come to a brush.”“Butcanyou box, old man?”“We must try one fine day. But now about the Club. I want you to help me draw up a scheme for my committee.”And the two friends spent the rest of the evening in one of the most gratifying tasks that ever fell to the lot of two honest seniors.A very different conversation was taking place a few studies away, where Pledge found himself alone with his fag for the first time since the boy had avowed his reconciliation with Dick.“Ah, Georgie, I don’t see much of you now. My study’s badly off for dusting.”“I’m very sorry, Pledge; I really hadn’t time.”“No? Busy reading the police news, I suppose, and seeing how young gentlemen behave themselves in the dock?”Heathcote flushed up, though from a very different cause from that which his senior suspected. In the new terror about Tom White, the youngster had forgotten all about Webster’s pencil-case.“You’re going it, Georgie,” said the monitor; “the inevitable result of bad company. You’ll want me to go bail for you after all.”“I don’t know what you are talking about,” said the boy, with a confusion that belied the words.“Well, I may be able to pull you through it better than you think, though, of course, I’m not such a great gun as Dick. However, what I want you for now is to go and post this letter at the head office.”“Why, it’s half-past eight,” said Heathcote.“Wonderful! and the post goes at nine!”“But I mean I shall get in a row for going out.”“Wonderful again! If anyone asks you, say I told you to go. Look alive!”Heathcote took the letter mechanically and went. He was too dazed to argue the matter, and too much disturbed by Pledge’s apparent knowledge of the scrape which was weighing on him and his friends to care to run the risk of offending him just now.As he was creeping across the Quadrangle, a door opened, and Mansfield confronted him.“Where are you going?”“To the post. Pledge gave me leave.”“Go back to your room,” said Mansfield, shutting the door.“He’s forgotten to give me lines,” said Georgie to himself. “By Jove! I hope he’s not going to send me up to Winter!”To Georgie’s surprise, he got neither lines nor a message to go to Dr Winter. But, as he was about to retire to rest, he received a summons from the Captain to go and speak with him in his study.His sentence was as short as it was astounding “Heathcote, in future you fag for Swinstead, not Pledge. Good-night.”

Mansfield never flattered himself that Templeton would right itself by a single turn of his hand, nor did he flatter himself that Templeton would ever love Jupiter as they had loved the old Saturn who had preceded him. And in neither expectation was he out of his reckoning.

After a week or two the sole result of the newrégimeseemed to be that the bad lot had plunged further into their evil ways. The “Select Sociables” had increased the number of their members to thirty, and made it an indispensable qualification for every candidate that he should have suffered punishment at the hands of the masters or monitors. It got to be known that it was war to the knife, and fellows flocked to the post of danger and begged to be admitted to the club.

All this Mansfield saw, but it did not disconcert him. He was glad to see a clear line being drawn, which made it impossible for any but the practised hypocrites to hang out false colours and pretend to be what they were not. It was half the battle to the Captain to know exactly who were friends and who were enemies.

He may sometimes have thought, with a passing sigh, of the affection which everybody, good and bad, had had for dear old Ponty, and wished he could expect as much. But he dashed the thought aside as folly. His duty was to make war on rebels, not to win them over by blandishments.

So he set his face like steel to the work, and made the name of monitor a caution in Templeton. And, it is fair to say, he was well backed up. Cresswell, Cartwright, Swinstead, and others of their sort rallied round him, and, at the risk of their own popularity, and sometimes against their better judgment, took up the rule of iron. Even the hermit Freckleton came out of his den now and then on the side of justice.

The cad Bull, who had neither the wit nor the temper to play a double part, threw up his monitorship in disgust and went over to the enemy, carrying with him one or two of the empty heads of the Fifth. Pledge alone looked on the whole revolution as a joke.

But even Pledge found it hard to make a case against the new rulers; for, if their severity was great, their justice was still greater. If they spared no one else, neither did they spare themselves. There was something almost ferociously honest and upright about Mansfield, and his lieutenants soon caught his spirit and made it impossible for anyone, even for Pledge, to point at them and say that either fear or favour moved them.

It was probably on this very account that Pledge deemed it well to treat the new state of things as a comedy, and not with serious attention.

A monitors’ meeting was summoned for the morning after Pledge’s call on Mr Webster, and he attended it with a pleasant smile on his face, as one who was always glad to come and see how his schoolfellows amused themselves.

The rest of the meeting was grim and serious.

“It’s time we did something to put down this Club,” said Mansfield. “They are drawing in all sorts of fellows now, and the longer we put it off the worse it will be.”

“What shall we do?” asked Freckleton.

“I think we ought to be able to do it without going to Winter about it,” said Cresswell.

“Would it do to start an opposition club?” suggested Swinstead.

“Or make it penal for any fellow to belong to it,” said Cartwright.

“Or send a deputation,” said Pledge, laughing, “and ask them please not to put the Sixth in such an awkward fix!”

“You see,” said the captain, ignoring, as he usually did, Pledge’s sarcasms, “whatever we do, some are sure to be irreconcilable. I would like to give any who wish a chance of coming out, and then we shall know what to do with the rest. Does anyone know when they meet?”

“I believe there’s a meeting this evening,” said Cartwright; “at least, my fag Coote told me a couple of days ago that he had a particular engagement this evening, and was sorry he couldn’t say what it was, for he’d promised never to speak of the Club to anyone, least of all to a monitor.”

There was a general smile at the expense of the artless Coote, and then Mansfield said:—

“Well, one of us had better go there and give them a caution. Will you go, Freckleton?”

“I?” exclaimed the Hermit, aghast.

“Yes, please, old man,” said the Captain; “you’d do it better than anyone.”

“Wouldn’t you like me to go?” asked Pledge.

“There’s one other thing I want to speak about,” said Mansfield. “There’s been a lot of breaking bounds lately among the juniors. I caught your fag yesterday, Cresswell, and gave him lines. Your fag too, Pledge, I have seen several times lately going out without leave.”

“Dear me! how shocking!” said Pledge.

“If monitors don’t see that their own fags keep the rules,” said Mansfield, “there’s not much chance of getting the school generally to keep them. In your case, Pledge, I happen to know you yourself gave Heathcote leave to go out more than once this term. I’m going to put a stop to that.”

“Are you really?” said Pledge.

“Yes,” said Mansfield, flashing with his eyes, but otherwise cool.

Whereupon the meeting broke up.

Freckleton had by no means a congenial task before him.

All this term he had been unable to settle down in his hermit’s cell. Mansfield had always been bringing him out for this and that special duty, till he was becoming quite a public character; and, unfortunately for him, he had done the few services for which he had been told off so well, that Mansfield had no notion whatever of letting him crawl back to obscurity.

The Captain knew what he was about in selecting the Hermit to open the campaign against the “Select Sociables.” A secret lawless society in a school is like a secret lawless society in a country—a pest to be dealt with carefully. Mansfield knew well enough that he himself was not the man to do it; nor was the downright Cresswell, nor the hot-headed Cartwright. It needed the wisdom of the serpent as well as the paw of the lion to do it, and if anyone was likely to succeed, it was Freckleton.

For Freckleton, hermit as he was, seemed to know more about every fellow in Templeton than anyone else. Where and when he made their acquaintance, no one knew and no one inquired. But certain it was no one knew the weak points of this boy and the good points of that better than he. And, as we have seen already, he was a “dark” man; hardly anyone knew him. They knew he had won the Bishop’s Scholarship and was reputed prodigiously learned. For the rest, except that he was harmless and kindly, fellows hardly seemed to know him at all. The “Select Sociables” were in full congress. They had instituted a fine of a penny for non-attendance, which had worked wonders. And to-night every member was in his place, except only Heathcote and Coote, who, as the reader knows, had something else to think of just then.

The behaviour of these two young gentlemen was giving the club some uneasiness. They were not alive to their duties as “Sociables.” And they had got into the abominable habit of obeying monitors and associating with questionable characters, such as Richardson, Aspinall, and the like.

A motion had just been passed calling upon the two delinquents to appear at the next meeting and answer for their conduct, when the door opened and Freckleton entered.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” said he. “I’m not sure if I’m a member, but I hope I don’t intrude.”

The “Sociables” stared at him, half in anger, half in bewilderment, as he helped himself to a chair and sat down with his back to the door.

“The fact is,” said he with a weary look, “I’ve lived such a retired life here, I hardly know where to find fellows I want. I’ve been hunting high and low for half a dozen fellows with brains in their heads, and someone told me if I came here I should find plenty.”

There was a titter not unmingled with a few frowns, as the Hermit spread himself comfortably on his chair and looked round him.

“It’s as hard to find a fellow with brains nowadays as it was for Diogenes to find an honest man, once. You know who Diogenes was, don’t you, Gossy?” added he, turning suddenly on that young bravo.

Gosse blushed crimson at finding himself so unexpectedly singled out; and faltered out that he had forgotten.

“Forgotten?” said Freckleton, joining in the general laugh at Gosse’s expense; “and you knew so well once! Ask Bull; he knows; he’s in the Sixth, andveryclever. Why, Bull (I hope he’s not present)—”

Another laugh. For Bull sat in his place the size of life, with his bloated face almost as red as Gosse’s.

“Bull actually found the Sixth so dull and unintellectual that he left us, in order to cultivate the acquaintance of Culver, and fellows of culture and scholarship like him. It was a great loss to us. We’ve hardly had an idea in the Sixth since Bull left.”

This double hit greatly delighted the majority of the “Sociables;” scarcely less so than Bull’s red cheeks, and the gape with which Culver received the reference to himself.

“You’re not wanted here,” Bull exclaimed; “get out!”

“There! Isn’t that clever?” said the Hermit, in apparent admiration. “Did ever you hear a sentence so well put together, and so eloquently delivered. Why, not even the ‘too-too’ Wrangham (I hope Wrangham’s not here)—”

Blushing was the order of the day. Wrangham tried hard to look unconcerned, but as the eyes of the Club turned round in his direction, the tell-tale roses came on his cadaverous cheeks and mounted to his forehead.

“The ‘too-too’ Wrangham, who loves lilies because they are pure, and calls teapots ‘consummate’ because—well, I don’t exactly know why—he couldn’t have put his one idea so neatly—”

“Look here, Freckleton,” said Spokes, feeling it due to the dignity of the Club to put an end to this scene; “this is a private meeting. You’ve no right to be here. Nobody wants you.”

“Dear me! was that the silvery voice of toffee-loving Spokes?” said the Hermit, amid a shout of laughter; for everyone knew Spokes’s weak point. “He says ‘Look here!’ Really I cannot, until a sponge has been passed over the honest face and shorn it of some of its clinging sweetness. But, gentlemen of the ‘Select’—‘Select’ is the word, isn’t it?”

“If you don’t go out, you’ll get chucked out,” said Bull.

“Oh, wonderful English! wonderful elocution!” said the Hermit. “Ah, it is good to be here. Ah! he comes, he comes!”

It was a critical moment as the burly Bull came down the room. Had he done so five minutes sooner Freckleton might have found himself single-handed. But already his genial banter had told among the more susceptible of his hearers, and he could count at any rate on fair play. For the rest, he had little anxiety.

“Wait a moment,” said he, rising to his feet, and motioning to Bull to wait: “Sociables, Bull wants to fight me. Do you want me to fight him?”

“Yes, yes,” shouted every one, delighted at the prospect of a fray, and many of them quite indifferent as to who conquered.

“Very well, gentlemen,” said the Hermit; “I will obey you on one condition, and one only.”

“What is it?” they shouted eagerly.

“This: that if I beat Bull, you make me your president; or, if you think it fairer, if I beat Bull first and then Spokes, you elect me. What do you say?”

The Hermit was staking high with a vengeance. Little had he dreamed, when he came down to have a little talk with the “Select Sociables,” of such a proposal. It was the sight of Bull walking down the room which had furnished the inspiration, and he was daring enough to seize the chance while he had it and risk all upon it.

In his secret heart he was not absolutely sure of vanquishing his opponent. For Bull was a noted fighting man, and had made his mark in Templeton. The Hermit had never fought in his life. And yet he knew a little about boxing. He was strong, cool, and sound of wind; and knew enough of human nature to avoid the least appearance of doubt or hesitation in a crisis like this.

“What do you say?” asked he.

“Rather! If you lick, we’ll make you president,” shouted the Club.

“As it is a business matter,” said Freckleton, “and will have to go on the minutes, wouldn’t it be well for someone to propose and second it?”

Whereupon Braider proposed and someone else seconded the proposal, which was put to the meeting with due solemnity and carried unanimously.

“Now,” said the Hermit, slowly divesting himself of his coat when the ceremony was concluded, “I’m at your service, Bull.”

There was breathless silence for a moment as all eyes turned on the ex-monitor.

The blushes had left his cheeks, and a pallor rather whiter than usual was there in their place. He stood, in a fascinated sort of way, watching Freckleton as he rolled the sleeves up above his elbows and divested himself of his collar. He had never imagined the “dark man” would face him, still less challenge him thus before the whole Club.

The coward’s heart failed him when the moment came. He didn’t like the look of things. For an instant the crimson rushed back to his face, then, turning his back, he walked away.

Instantly a storm of hissing and hooting rose from the club, such as had rarely been heard in the walls of Templeton. None are so indignant at cowards as those who are not quite sure of their own heroism, and Bull found it out.

“Do I understand,” said Freckleton, as soon as he could get in a word, “that the Bull declines?”

The Bull made no answer.

“He funks it. Turn him out!” cried Gosse.

The Hermit could not prevent a smile.

“Does anyone second Mr Gosse’s motion?”

“I do,” shouted Spokes, amid derisive laughter.

“Then,” said Freckleton, opening the door, “we needn’t detain you, Bull, unless, on second thoughts—”

Bull slunk out, followed by another howl, which drowned the Hermit’s words. When he had gone the latter put on his coat, and, walking up to the chair, which Spokes had prudently vacated, called the club to order and said:—

“Gentlemen,—I beg to thank you for appointing me your president. I know it will be hard to follow worthily in the footsteps of the gentleman who has just left the room—(groans)—and of the gentleman who has just vacated this chair, leaving some of his sweetness behind him. (Derisive cheers.) Still, I would like to do something to help make this club a credit. I think we might look over the rules and see if we can get anything in which will keep cowards and cads out of the club. Of course that wouldn’t affect any of you, but it would help to keep us more select for the future. (Cheers.) In fact, I don’t see, gentlemen, why we shouldn’t make the club big enough to take in any fellow who, like all of you, hates cowardice, and meanness, and dirtiness, and that sort of thing. (Cheers, not unmixed with blushes.) We may not all think alike about everything, but, if we are all agreed it’s good form to be gentlemen, and honest and brave, I don’t see why we can’t be ‘Select Sociables’ still. We pride ourselves at Templeton on being one of the crack schools in the country. (Loud cheers.) Well, any lot of fellows who set up for the ‘Select’ here ought to be the crack of the crack—like you all, for instance. However, these are only suggestions. Now I’m your president I mean to work hard for the club and do my best—(cheers)—and I ask you to back me up. (Cheers.) I think, by way of a start, we might appoint a committee of, say, half a dozen, to look into the rules and see how they can be improved, and how the club can be made of most use to Templeton. What do you say?”

Cheers greeted the suggestion, and several names were proposed. The six elected included Spokes and Braider, and it was evident, from the half-nervous, half-gratified manner in which these two undertook their new responsibilities, that the Hermit had found out the trick of bringing out the good points even of the most unpromising boys.

The Club separated with cheers for the new president, and scarcely yet realising the transformation scene which he had made in their midst. A few, such as Wrangham, skulked off, but the majority took up the new order of things with ardour, and vied with one another in showing that they at any rate were bent on making the Club a credit.

Freckleton meanwhile retired to report the success of his mission to Mansfield.

“Well, have you got their names and cautioned them?” asked the Captain.

“I’m very hot and thirsty,” said the Hermit, flinging himself down on a chair.

“Yes, yes; but what about this bad club?”

“Call it not bad, Jupiter, for I am its president.”

“What! you its president!” cried the Captain, taking in the mystery at a bound. “You mean to say you’ve talked them over! By Jove! Freckleton, you ought to be Captain of Templeton.”

“Thank you; I’ve quite enough to do as president of the ‘Select Sociables.’”

And he then proceeded to give a modest history of the evening’s proceedings.

Mansfield was delighted at every particular.

“But suppose Bull had fought you,” said he, “where would you be now?”

“Better off, I think,” said the Hermit. “It would have told better if I could really have knocked him down. However, I fancy it’s as well it didn’t come to a brush.”

“Butcanyou box, old man?”

“We must try one fine day. But now about the Club. I want you to help me draw up a scheme for my committee.”

And the two friends spent the rest of the evening in one of the most gratifying tasks that ever fell to the lot of two honest seniors.

A very different conversation was taking place a few studies away, where Pledge found himself alone with his fag for the first time since the boy had avowed his reconciliation with Dick.

“Ah, Georgie, I don’t see much of you now. My study’s badly off for dusting.”

“I’m very sorry, Pledge; I really hadn’t time.”

“No? Busy reading the police news, I suppose, and seeing how young gentlemen behave themselves in the dock?”

Heathcote flushed up, though from a very different cause from that which his senior suspected. In the new terror about Tom White, the youngster had forgotten all about Webster’s pencil-case.

“You’re going it, Georgie,” said the monitor; “the inevitable result of bad company. You’ll want me to go bail for you after all.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” said the boy, with a confusion that belied the words.

“Well, I may be able to pull you through it better than you think, though, of course, I’m not such a great gun as Dick. However, what I want you for now is to go and post this letter at the head office.”

“Why, it’s half-past eight,” said Heathcote.

“Wonderful! and the post goes at nine!”

“But I mean I shall get in a row for going out.”

“Wonderful again! If anyone asks you, say I told you to go. Look alive!”

Heathcote took the letter mechanically and went. He was too dazed to argue the matter, and too much disturbed by Pledge’s apparent knowledge of the scrape which was weighing on him and his friends to care to run the risk of offending him just now.

As he was creeping across the Quadrangle, a door opened, and Mansfield confronted him.

“Where are you going?”

“To the post. Pledge gave me leave.”

“Go back to your room,” said Mansfield, shutting the door.

“He’s forgotten to give me lines,” said Georgie to himself. “By Jove! I hope he’s not going to send me up to Winter!”

To Georgie’s surprise, he got neither lines nor a message to go to Dr Winter. But, as he was about to retire to rest, he received a summons from the Captain to go and speak with him in his study.

His sentence was as short as it was astounding “Heathcote, in future you fag for Swinstead, not Pledge. Good-night.”

Chapter Twenty Three.Which treats of Law and Justice.While Pledge was dressing on the following morning, the Captain’s fag brought him a note.“There’s no answer,” said the junior, tossing it down on the table, and departing, whistling. Pledge opened it and read:—“As you are determined to defy the rules, and make others do the same, I send this note to say Heathcote is no longer your fag, and that you will have to do without one for the future. I also wish to say that unless you are prepared to abide by school rules, it will save trouble if you send in your resignation as a monitor at once.—E. M.”His first impulse on reading this letter was to laugh, and toss the paper contemptuously into the hearth. But on second thoughts, his amusement changed to wrath, not quite unmixed with dismay.He knew well enough last night, when he sent Heathcote out, that he was bringing matters between himself and the Captain to an issue. And he had been too curious to see what Mansfield’s next move would be, to calculate for himself on what it was likely to be. And now he felt himself hit in his weakest point.Not that the “Spider” was desperately in love with Heathcote. As long as that volatile youth had owned his allegiance and proved amenable to his influence, so long had Pledge liked the boy and set store by his companionship.But lately Heathcote had been coming out in an unsatisfactory light.For no apparent reason he had upset all his patron’s calculations, and spoiled all his carefully arranged plans, by going over to Dick and placing Pledge in the ridiculous position of a worsted rival to that noisy young hero. And, as if that were not enough, he had let himself be used by the Captain as a means of dealing a further blow. For, when Pledge came to think of it, Heathcote had made prompt use of his new liberty to absent himself from his senior’s chamber that very morning.He left his study door open, and watched the passage sharply for the deserter.He saw him at last, labouring under a huge pile of books, which he was carrying to his new lord’s study.“Ah, Georgie!” cried Pledge, with studied friendliness, “you’ll drop that pile, if you try to carry all at once. Put some down here, and make two loads of it. So you’ve been promoted to a new senior?”“It’s not my choice; Mansfield moved me,” said Heathcote, feeling and looking very uncomfortable.“And I fancy I can hear the fervour with which you said, ‘God bless you, for saving me from Pledge, Mansfield,’ when he moved you.”“I said nothing of the sort. I knew nothing about it, I tell you, till he told me.”“Quite a delicious surprise. But you really mustn’t be seen here,” said Pledge, with a sneer. “The holy ones will think I am luring you back to perdition.”“I don’t care what they say,” said the boy.“Oh, Georgie! How ungrateful! how sinful of you! Go to them. They may even be able to tell you how to enjoy yourself in a police cell.”It was gratifying to the senior to see the gasp with which the boy received this random shot.“What do you mean?” faltered the latter.“Really, hadn’t you better ask Swinstead? He’s your protector now. I have no business to interfere.”“Do tell me what you mean?” said the boy, imploringly.But just at that moment a step sounded in the passage outside, and Mansfield entered the study.Heathcote promptly vanished, and Pledge, face to face with his antagonist, had something else to think about than Mr Webster’s pencil. The Captain, who had great faith in striking the iron while it is hot, had come down on the heels of his letter, determined that if any understanding was to be come to between him and Pledge, it should be come to promptly.“You’ve had my note?” said he.“Really, Mansfield,” began Pledge, “I’ve no doubt it’s an honour to receive a call from the Captain, but you seem to forget this is my study, not your’s.”“You sent Heathcote out last night on purpose,” said Mansfield, ignoring the protest, “and what I want to know now is whether you are going to resign your monitorship or not?”Pledge’s eyes blazed out as he met the Captain’s determined face and cool eyes.“You don’t seem to have heard what I said?” he replied.“I heard every word, and you heard my question?” answered the Captain.“And suppose I don’t choose to answer your question?”“Then I’ll answer it for you. If you choose to resign, you may. If you don’t—”“Well?”“You cease to be a monitor, all the same.”“Who says so?” asked Pledge, sharply, and with pale lips.“I say so, as Captain here,” said Mansfield, coolly.“You! You’re not Templeton. You may be a great man in your own eyes, but you’re only a schoolboy after all. I always understood Dr Winter was head master here, and not the boy Mansfield.”“You prefer to appeal to Winter, then?”“Dear me, no! Dr Winter is so well drilled into what he has to say and do here, that it would be a pity to put him to unnecessary trouble.”“You can do as you like,” said the Captain, drily. “There’s to be a monitors’ meeting at twelve. If you like to come and resign, do so; or if you like to come and hear your name taken off the list, you can.”And Mansfield turned on his heel, and went Pledge did not often fly into a passion; but as he locked his door, and heard the Captain’s steps retreating down the passage, he gave vent to a fit of uncontrolled fury.He was a coward. He knew it. He knew he dared not meet the enemy face to face, and fight for his good name in Templeton. He knew everyone hated him—everyone except, perhaps, Heathcote. And Heathcote was drifting from him, too. Should he appeal to Winter? He dared not. Should he let himself be expelled from the monitorship? If he could have counted on any one who would feel an atom of regret at the step, he might have faced it. But there was no one. Should he resign? and so relieve the monitors of their difficulty, and own himself beaten? There was nothing else to do. Of the three alternatives it was the least dangerous. So he sat down and wrote:—“Dear Mansfield,—As you appear to have set your mind upon my resigning my monitorship, and as I am always anxious to oblige the disinterested wishes of those who beg as a favour for what they know would come without asking, I take the opportunity to carry out what I have long contemplated, and beg to resign a post of which I have never been proud. At the same time I must ask you to accept my resignation from the Football Club, and the Harriers.—Yours truly, P. Pledge.”It was a paltry letter, and Pledge knew it. But he could not help writing it, and only wished the words would show half the venom in which his thoughts were steeped. The sentence about the Football Club and the Harriers was a sudden inspiration. Templeton should have something to regret in the loss of him. He knew they would find it hard to fill his place in the fields, however easily they might do without him in school.Mansfield read the letter contemptuously, as did all the monitors who had the real good of Templeton at heart. A few pulled long faces, and wondered how the Fifteen was to get on without its best halfback; but altogether the Sixth breathed more freely for what had been done and were glad Mansfield had taken upon himself a task which no one else would have cared to undertake.Meanwhile, our three heroes were spending an agitated Saturday half-holiday.For Dick had decided two days ago that his “Firm” would have to look after Tom White.“You know, you fellows,” said he, “we’re not exactly in it as far as his pawning the boat goes, but then if we hadn’t lost her, the row would have never come on.”“And if he hadn’t robbed us, we should never have interfered with the boat.”“And if we hadn’t gone to the Grandcourt match,” said Dick, who was fond of tracing events to their source, “he wouldn’t have robbed us.”Whereat they left the pedigree of Tom White’s “row” alone, and turned to more practical business.“What can we do?” said Georgie. “We can’t get him off.”“We’re bound to back him up, though, aren’t we?”“Oh, I suppose so, if we only knew how.”“Well, it strikes me we ought to turn up at the police court to-morrow, and see how things go,” said Dick.The “Firm” adopted the motion. The next day was a half-holiday; and a police court is always attractive to infant minds. And the presence of a real excuse for attending made the expedition an absolute necessity.As soon as Saturday school was over, therefore, and at the very time when the Sixth were considering Pledge’s “resignation,” our three heroes, having taken a good lunch, and armed themselves each with a towel, in case there might be time for a “Tub” on the way back, sallied forth arm-in-arm to back up Tom White.They found, rather to their disgust, on reaching the police court, that they were not the only Templetonians who had been attracted by the prospect of seeing the honest mariner at the bar. Raggles and Duffield were there before them, waiting for the public door to open, and greeted them hilariously.“What cheer?” cried Raggles. “Here’s a go! Squash up, and we shall bag the front pew. Duff’s got five-penn’orth of chocolate creams, so we shall be awfully snug.”This last announcement somewhat mollified the “Firm,” who made up affectionately to Duffield’s. “Old Tom will get six months,” said Duffield, as soon as his bag of creams had completed its first circuit. “Rough on him, ain’t it?”“I don’t know. I say, it’ll be rather a game if it turns out he stole his own boat, won’t it? Case of picking your own pocket, eh?”“I don’t know,” said Dick. “I don’t think he did steal it. But even if he did, you see it didn’t belong to him.”“It’s a frightful jumble altogether,” said Georgie. “I think law’s a beastly thing. If the pawnbroker chooses togivemoney on the boat—”“Oh, it’s not the pawnbroker—it’s the fellows the boat belonged to.”“But, I tell you, Tom’s one of the fellows himself.”“Well, it’s the other fellows.”“We may as well have another go of chocolates now, in case they get squashed up going in,” suggested Coote, who avoided the legal aspect of the case.The door opened at last, and our heroes, some of whom knew the ways of the place, made a stampede over the forms and through the witness-box into the front seat reserved for the use of the public, where they spread themselves out luxuriously, and celebrated their achievement by a further tax on the friendly Duffield’s creams.The court rapidly filled. The interest which Tom White’s case had evoked had grown into positive excitement since his arrest, and our heroes had reason to congratulate themselves on their punctuality as they saw the crowded forms behind them and the jostling group at the door.“There’s Webster at the back; shall you nod to him?” asked Heathcote.“Yes—better,” said Dick, speaking for the “Firm.”Whereupon all three turned their backs on the bench and nodded cheerily to Mr Webster, who never saw them, so busy was he in edging his way to a seat.Having discharged this public duty our heroes resumed their seats just in time to witness the arrival of the usher of the court, followed by a man in a wig, and a couple of reporters.“It’s getting hot, I say,” said Dick, speaking more of his emotions than of the state of the atmosphere.It got hotter rapidly; for two of the Templeton police appeared on the scene and looked hard at the front public bench. Then the solicitors’ seats filled up, and the magistrates’ clerk bustled in to his table. And before these alarming arrivals had well brought the perspiration to our heroes’ brows, the appearance of two magistrates on the bench sent up the temperature to tropical.“Order in the court!” cried the usher.Whereupon Duffield, in his excitement, dropped a chocolate on the floor and turned pale as if expecting immediate sentence of death.However, the worst was now over. And when it appeared that the two magistrates were bluff, good-humoured squires, who seemed to have no particular spite against anybody, and believed everything the clerk told them, the spirits of our heroes revived wonderfully, and Duffield’s bag travelled briskly in consequence.To the relief of the “Firm,” the first case was not Tom White’s. It was that of a vagrant who was charged with the heinous crimes of begging and being unable to give an account of herself. The active and intelligent police gave their evidence beautifully, and displayed an amount of shrewdness and heroism in the taking up of this wretched outcast which made every one wonder they were allowed to waste their talents in so humble a sphere as Templeton.The magistrates put their heads together for a few seconds, and then summoned the clerk to put his head up, too, and the result of the consultation was that the poor creature was ordered to be taken in at the Union and cared for.Duffield’s bag was getting very light by the time this humane decision was come to. Only one round was left, and that was deferred by mutual consent when the clerk called out “Thomas White!”Our heroes sat up in their seats and fixed their eyes on the dock.In a moment Tom White, as rollicking as ever, but unusually sober, stood in it, and gazed round the place in a half-dazed way.As his eyes came down to the front public bench, our heroes’ cheeks flushed and their eyes looked straight in front of them.Duffield and Raggles, on the contrary, being the victims of no pangs of conscience, after looking hurriedly round to see that neither the magistrates, the police, nor the usher observed them, winked recognition at their old servant in distress.This was too much for Dick. These two fellows who weren’t “in it” at all were backing Tom up in public, whereas his “Firm,” who were in it, and had come down for the express purpose of looking after the prisoner, were doing nothing. “Better nod,” he whispered.And the “Firm” nodded, shyly but distinctly.Tom White was not the sort of gentleman to cut his friends on an occasion like this, and he, seeing himself thus noticed, and recognising, in a vague sort of way, his patrons, favoured the front public bench with five very pronounced nods, greatly to the embarrassment of the young gentlemen there, and vastly to the indignation of the police and officials of the court.“Order there, or the court will be cleared!” cried the clerk, in a tone of outraged propriety; “How dare you?”Our heroes, not being in a position to answer the question by reason of their tongues being glued to the roofs of their mouths, remained silent, and tried as best they could to appear absorbed in the shape of their own boots.“If such a thing occurs again,” persisted the clerk, “their worships will take very serious notice of it.”“Their worships,” who had not a ghost of an idea what the clerk was talking about, said “very serious,” and asked that the case might proceed.It proceeded, and under its cover our agitated heroes gradually raised their countenances from their boots, and felt their hearts, which had just now stood still, beating once more in their honest bosoms.For any one not personally interested, the case was prosy enough.A solicitor got up and said he appeared for Tom’s three partners, who charged him with pledging theMarthaand appropriating the money, whereas theMarthabelonged to the four of them, and Tom had no right to raise money on her except by mutual consent.The three partners and the pawnbroker were put into the witness-box, and gave their evidence in a lame sort of way.Tom was invited to ask any questions he desired of the witnesses, and said “Thank’ee, sir,” to each offer. He had nothing that he “knowed of to ask them. He was an unfortunate labouring man that had lost his living, and he hoped gentlemen would remember him.”He accompanied this last appeal with a knowing look and grin at the occupants of the front public bench, who immediately blushed like turkey cocks, and again dropped their heads towards their boots.“Have you anything to say about the disappearance of the boat?” said the clerk, shuffling his notes.“Only, your worship,” said the solicitor, “that on the 4th of June last theMarthadisappeared from her berth on the beach, and, as White disappeared at the same time and refuses to give an account of himself at that particular time, the prosecutors are convinced he removed the boat himself.”In support of this very vague charge a policeman was called, who gave a graphic account of the beauties of the moonlight on the night in question, and of how he had seen, from his beat on the Parade, a figure move stealthily across the sands to the place where White’s boat was supposed to be. He couldn’t quite, swear that the figure was White or that the boat was theMarthabut he didn’t know who either could be if they were not. The figure might have been a boy, but, as he was a quarter of a mile off, he couldn’t say. He never left his beat till one in the morning. By that time the tide was in. He didn’t actually see Tom White row off in theMarthabut neither of them was to be seen in Templeton next day.After this piece of conclusive evidence the public looked at one another and shook their heads, and thought what wonderful men the Templeton police were for finding out things.“Have you any questions to ask the witness?” demanded the clerk of Tom.“Thank’ee, no, sir; it’s all one to me,” said Tom. “Bless yer! I never knows nothing about it till a young gentleman says to me, ‘They’re after you,’ says he; ‘scuttle off.’ So I scuttled off. Bless you, sir, I didn’t know I was doing harm.”Under this thunderbolt Dick almost collapsed. Fortunately, Tom’s short memory kept him from recognising him in the matter any more than the other occupants of the seat. He nodded generally to the young gentlemen as a body—a most compromising nod, and one which included all five in it meaning.One of the magistrates who saw it looked up and asked genially:—“You don’t mean to say it was one of those young gentlemen, prisoner?”“Bless you, sir, likely as not. They young gentlemen, sir, always spare a trifle for a honest—”“Yes, yes; we don’t want all that! If you have no more questions to ask the constable, the constable may stand down.”The constable stood down, and a brief consultation again ensued between the Bench and the clerk which Dick, firmly believing that it referred to him, watched with terrible interest.“Yes,” said the magistrate, looking up, “we remand the case for a week.”Dick breathed again. The storm had blown over after all. Not only had he himself escaped punishment for conspiring against the ends of justice, but Tom White had still another week during which something might turn up.The court emptied rapidly as the case ended.“Rather hot! wasn’t it?” said Duffield, as the five found themselves outside, solacing themselves with the last “go” of the creams.“Awful!” said the “Firm” from the bottom of their hearts, and feeling that many afternoons like this would materially shorten their days.

While Pledge was dressing on the following morning, the Captain’s fag brought him a note.

“There’s no answer,” said the junior, tossing it down on the table, and departing, whistling. Pledge opened it and read:—

“As you are determined to defy the rules, and make others do the same, I send this note to say Heathcote is no longer your fag, and that you will have to do without one for the future. I also wish to say that unless you are prepared to abide by school rules, it will save trouble if you send in your resignation as a monitor at once.—E. M.”

His first impulse on reading this letter was to laugh, and toss the paper contemptuously into the hearth. But on second thoughts, his amusement changed to wrath, not quite unmixed with dismay.

He knew well enough last night, when he sent Heathcote out, that he was bringing matters between himself and the Captain to an issue. And he had been too curious to see what Mansfield’s next move would be, to calculate for himself on what it was likely to be. And now he felt himself hit in his weakest point.

Not that the “Spider” was desperately in love with Heathcote. As long as that volatile youth had owned his allegiance and proved amenable to his influence, so long had Pledge liked the boy and set store by his companionship.

But lately Heathcote had been coming out in an unsatisfactory light.

For no apparent reason he had upset all his patron’s calculations, and spoiled all his carefully arranged plans, by going over to Dick and placing Pledge in the ridiculous position of a worsted rival to that noisy young hero. And, as if that were not enough, he had let himself be used by the Captain as a means of dealing a further blow. For, when Pledge came to think of it, Heathcote had made prompt use of his new liberty to absent himself from his senior’s chamber that very morning.

He left his study door open, and watched the passage sharply for the deserter.

He saw him at last, labouring under a huge pile of books, which he was carrying to his new lord’s study.

“Ah, Georgie!” cried Pledge, with studied friendliness, “you’ll drop that pile, if you try to carry all at once. Put some down here, and make two loads of it. So you’ve been promoted to a new senior?”

“It’s not my choice; Mansfield moved me,” said Heathcote, feeling and looking very uncomfortable.

“And I fancy I can hear the fervour with which you said, ‘God bless you, for saving me from Pledge, Mansfield,’ when he moved you.”

“I said nothing of the sort. I knew nothing about it, I tell you, till he told me.”

“Quite a delicious surprise. But you really mustn’t be seen here,” said Pledge, with a sneer. “The holy ones will think I am luring you back to perdition.”

“I don’t care what they say,” said the boy.

“Oh, Georgie! How ungrateful! how sinful of you! Go to them. They may even be able to tell you how to enjoy yourself in a police cell.”

It was gratifying to the senior to see the gasp with which the boy received this random shot.

“What do you mean?” faltered the latter.

“Really, hadn’t you better ask Swinstead? He’s your protector now. I have no business to interfere.”

“Do tell me what you mean?” said the boy, imploringly.

But just at that moment a step sounded in the passage outside, and Mansfield entered the study.

Heathcote promptly vanished, and Pledge, face to face with his antagonist, had something else to think about than Mr Webster’s pencil. The Captain, who had great faith in striking the iron while it is hot, had come down on the heels of his letter, determined that if any understanding was to be come to between him and Pledge, it should be come to promptly.

“You’ve had my note?” said he.

“Really, Mansfield,” began Pledge, “I’ve no doubt it’s an honour to receive a call from the Captain, but you seem to forget this is my study, not your’s.”

“You sent Heathcote out last night on purpose,” said Mansfield, ignoring the protest, “and what I want to know now is whether you are going to resign your monitorship or not?”

Pledge’s eyes blazed out as he met the Captain’s determined face and cool eyes.

“You don’t seem to have heard what I said?” he replied.

“I heard every word, and you heard my question?” answered the Captain.

“And suppose I don’t choose to answer your question?”

“Then I’ll answer it for you. If you choose to resign, you may. If you don’t—”

“Well?”

“You cease to be a monitor, all the same.”

“Who says so?” asked Pledge, sharply, and with pale lips.

“I say so, as Captain here,” said Mansfield, coolly.

“You! You’re not Templeton. You may be a great man in your own eyes, but you’re only a schoolboy after all. I always understood Dr Winter was head master here, and not the boy Mansfield.”

“You prefer to appeal to Winter, then?”

“Dear me, no! Dr Winter is so well drilled into what he has to say and do here, that it would be a pity to put him to unnecessary trouble.”

“You can do as you like,” said the Captain, drily. “There’s to be a monitors’ meeting at twelve. If you like to come and resign, do so; or if you like to come and hear your name taken off the list, you can.”

And Mansfield turned on his heel, and went Pledge did not often fly into a passion; but as he locked his door, and heard the Captain’s steps retreating down the passage, he gave vent to a fit of uncontrolled fury.

He was a coward. He knew it. He knew he dared not meet the enemy face to face, and fight for his good name in Templeton. He knew everyone hated him—everyone except, perhaps, Heathcote. And Heathcote was drifting from him, too. Should he appeal to Winter? He dared not. Should he let himself be expelled from the monitorship? If he could have counted on any one who would feel an atom of regret at the step, he might have faced it. But there was no one. Should he resign? and so relieve the monitors of their difficulty, and own himself beaten? There was nothing else to do. Of the three alternatives it was the least dangerous. So he sat down and wrote:—

“Dear Mansfield,—As you appear to have set your mind upon my resigning my monitorship, and as I am always anxious to oblige the disinterested wishes of those who beg as a favour for what they know would come without asking, I take the opportunity to carry out what I have long contemplated, and beg to resign a post of which I have never been proud. At the same time I must ask you to accept my resignation from the Football Club, and the Harriers.—Yours truly, P. Pledge.”

It was a paltry letter, and Pledge knew it. But he could not help writing it, and only wished the words would show half the venom in which his thoughts were steeped. The sentence about the Football Club and the Harriers was a sudden inspiration. Templeton should have something to regret in the loss of him. He knew they would find it hard to fill his place in the fields, however easily they might do without him in school.

Mansfield read the letter contemptuously, as did all the monitors who had the real good of Templeton at heart. A few pulled long faces, and wondered how the Fifteen was to get on without its best halfback; but altogether the Sixth breathed more freely for what had been done and were glad Mansfield had taken upon himself a task which no one else would have cared to undertake.

Meanwhile, our three heroes were spending an agitated Saturday half-holiday.

For Dick had decided two days ago that his “Firm” would have to look after Tom White.

“You know, you fellows,” said he, “we’re not exactly in it as far as his pawning the boat goes, but then if we hadn’t lost her, the row would have never come on.”

“And if he hadn’t robbed us, we should never have interfered with the boat.”

“And if we hadn’t gone to the Grandcourt match,” said Dick, who was fond of tracing events to their source, “he wouldn’t have robbed us.”

Whereat they left the pedigree of Tom White’s “row” alone, and turned to more practical business.

“What can we do?” said Georgie. “We can’t get him off.”

“We’re bound to back him up, though, aren’t we?”

“Oh, I suppose so, if we only knew how.”

“Well, it strikes me we ought to turn up at the police court to-morrow, and see how things go,” said Dick.

The “Firm” adopted the motion. The next day was a half-holiday; and a police court is always attractive to infant minds. And the presence of a real excuse for attending made the expedition an absolute necessity.

As soon as Saturday school was over, therefore, and at the very time when the Sixth were considering Pledge’s “resignation,” our three heroes, having taken a good lunch, and armed themselves each with a towel, in case there might be time for a “Tub” on the way back, sallied forth arm-in-arm to back up Tom White.

They found, rather to their disgust, on reaching the police court, that they were not the only Templetonians who had been attracted by the prospect of seeing the honest mariner at the bar. Raggles and Duffield were there before them, waiting for the public door to open, and greeted them hilariously.

“What cheer?” cried Raggles. “Here’s a go! Squash up, and we shall bag the front pew. Duff’s got five-penn’orth of chocolate creams, so we shall be awfully snug.”

This last announcement somewhat mollified the “Firm,” who made up affectionately to Duffield’s. “Old Tom will get six months,” said Duffield, as soon as his bag of creams had completed its first circuit. “Rough on him, ain’t it?”

“I don’t know. I say, it’ll be rather a game if it turns out he stole his own boat, won’t it? Case of picking your own pocket, eh?”

“I don’t know,” said Dick. “I don’t think he did steal it. But even if he did, you see it didn’t belong to him.”

“It’s a frightful jumble altogether,” said Georgie. “I think law’s a beastly thing. If the pawnbroker chooses togivemoney on the boat—”

“Oh, it’s not the pawnbroker—it’s the fellows the boat belonged to.”

“But, I tell you, Tom’s one of the fellows himself.”

“Well, it’s the other fellows.”

“We may as well have another go of chocolates now, in case they get squashed up going in,” suggested Coote, who avoided the legal aspect of the case.

The door opened at last, and our heroes, some of whom knew the ways of the place, made a stampede over the forms and through the witness-box into the front seat reserved for the use of the public, where they spread themselves out luxuriously, and celebrated their achievement by a further tax on the friendly Duffield’s creams.

The court rapidly filled. The interest which Tom White’s case had evoked had grown into positive excitement since his arrest, and our heroes had reason to congratulate themselves on their punctuality as they saw the crowded forms behind them and the jostling group at the door.

“There’s Webster at the back; shall you nod to him?” asked Heathcote.

“Yes—better,” said Dick, speaking for the “Firm.”

Whereupon all three turned their backs on the bench and nodded cheerily to Mr Webster, who never saw them, so busy was he in edging his way to a seat.

Having discharged this public duty our heroes resumed their seats just in time to witness the arrival of the usher of the court, followed by a man in a wig, and a couple of reporters.

“It’s getting hot, I say,” said Dick, speaking more of his emotions than of the state of the atmosphere.

It got hotter rapidly; for two of the Templeton police appeared on the scene and looked hard at the front public bench. Then the solicitors’ seats filled up, and the magistrates’ clerk bustled in to his table. And before these alarming arrivals had well brought the perspiration to our heroes’ brows, the appearance of two magistrates on the bench sent up the temperature to tropical.

“Order in the court!” cried the usher.

Whereupon Duffield, in his excitement, dropped a chocolate on the floor and turned pale as if expecting immediate sentence of death.

However, the worst was now over. And when it appeared that the two magistrates were bluff, good-humoured squires, who seemed to have no particular spite against anybody, and believed everything the clerk told them, the spirits of our heroes revived wonderfully, and Duffield’s bag travelled briskly in consequence.

To the relief of the “Firm,” the first case was not Tom White’s. It was that of a vagrant who was charged with the heinous crimes of begging and being unable to give an account of herself. The active and intelligent police gave their evidence beautifully, and displayed an amount of shrewdness and heroism in the taking up of this wretched outcast which made every one wonder they were allowed to waste their talents in so humble a sphere as Templeton.

The magistrates put their heads together for a few seconds, and then summoned the clerk to put his head up, too, and the result of the consultation was that the poor creature was ordered to be taken in at the Union and cared for.

Duffield’s bag was getting very light by the time this humane decision was come to. Only one round was left, and that was deferred by mutual consent when the clerk called out “Thomas White!”

Our heroes sat up in their seats and fixed their eyes on the dock.

In a moment Tom White, as rollicking as ever, but unusually sober, stood in it, and gazed round the place in a half-dazed way.

As his eyes came down to the front public bench, our heroes’ cheeks flushed and their eyes looked straight in front of them.

Duffield and Raggles, on the contrary, being the victims of no pangs of conscience, after looking hurriedly round to see that neither the magistrates, the police, nor the usher observed them, winked recognition at their old servant in distress.

This was too much for Dick. These two fellows who weren’t “in it” at all were backing Tom up in public, whereas his “Firm,” who were in it, and had come down for the express purpose of looking after the prisoner, were doing nothing. “Better nod,” he whispered.

And the “Firm” nodded, shyly but distinctly.

Tom White was not the sort of gentleman to cut his friends on an occasion like this, and he, seeing himself thus noticed, and recognising, in a vague sort of way, his patrons, favoured the front public bench with five very pronounced nods, greatly to the embarrassment of the young gentlemen there, and vastly to the indignation of the police and officials of the court.

“Order there, or the court will be cleared!” cried the clerk, in a tone of outraged propriety; “How dare you?”

Our heroes, not being in a position to answer the question by reason of their tongues being glued to the roofs of their mouths, remained silent, and tried as best they could to appear absorbed in the shape of their own boots.

“If such a thing occurs again,” persisted the clerk, “their worships will take very serious notice of it.”

“Their worships,” who had not a ghost of an idea what the clerk was talking about, said “very serious,” and asked that the case might proceed.

It proceeded, and under its cover our agitated heroes gradually raised their countenances from their boots, and felt their hearts, which had just now stood still, beating once more in their honest bosoms.

For any one not personally interested, the case was prosy enough.

A solicitor got up and said he appeared for Tom’s three partners, who charged him with pledging theMarthaand appropriating the money, whereas theMarthabelonged to the four of them, and Tom had no right to raise money on her except by mutual consent.

The three partners and the pawnbroker were put into the witness-box, and gave their evidence in a lame sort of way.

Tom was invited to ask any questions he desired of the witnesses, and said “Thank’ee, sir,” to each offer. He had nothing that he “knowed of to ask them. He was an unfortunate labouring man that had lost his living, and he hoped gentlemen would remember him.”

He accompanied this last appeal with a knowing look and grin at the occupants of the front public bench, who immediately blushed like turkey cocks, and again dropped their heads towards their boots.

“Have you anything to say about the disappearance of the boat?” said the clerk, shuffling his notes.

“Only, your worship,” said the solicitor, “that on the 4th of June last theMarthadisappeared from her berth on the beach, and, as White disappeared at the same time and refuses to give an account of himself at that particular time, the prosecutors are convinced he removed the boat himself.”

In support of this very vague charge a policeman was called, who gave a graphic account of the beauties of the moonlight on the night in question, and of how he had seen, from his beat on the Parade, a figure move stealthily across the sands to the place where White’s boat was supposed to be. He couldn’t quite, swear that the figure was White or that the boat was theMarthabut he didn’t know who either could be if they were not. The figure might have been a boy, but, as he was a quarter of a mile off, he couldn’t say. He never left his beat till one in the morning. By that time the tide was in. He didn’t actually see Tom White row off in theMarthabut neither of them was to be seen in Templeton next day.

After this piece of conclusive evidence the public looked at one another and shook their heads, and thought what wonderful men the Templeton police were for finding out things.

“Have you any questions to ask the witness?” demanded the clerk of Tom.

“Thank’ee, no, sir; it’s all one to me,” said Tom. “Bless yer! I never knows nothing about it till a young gentleman says to me, ‘They’re after you,’ says he; ‘scuttle off.’ So I scuttled off. Bless you, sir, I didn’t know I was doing harm.”

Under this thunderbolt Dick almost collapsed. Fortunately, Tom’s short memory kept him from recognising him in the matter any more than the other occupants of the seat. He nodded generally to the young gentlemen as a body—a most compromising nod, and one which included all five in it meaning.

One of the magistrates who saw it looked up and asked genially:—

“You don’t mean to say it was one of those young gentlemen, prisoner?”

“Bless you, sir, likely as not. They young gentlemen, sir, always spare a trifle for a honest—”

“Yes, yes; we don’t want all that! If you have no more questions to ask the constable, the constable may stand down.”

The constable stood down, and a brief consultation again ensued between the Bench and the clerk which Dick, firmly believing that it referred to him, watched with terrible interest.

“Yes,” said the magistrate, looking up, “we remand the case for a week.”

Dick breathed again. The storm had blown over after all. Not only had he himself escaped punishment for conspiring against the ends of justice, but Tom White had still another week during which something might turn up.

The court emptied rapidly as the case ended.

“Rather hot! wasn’t it?” said Duffield, as the five found themselves outside, solacing themselves with the last “go” of the creams.

“Awful!” said the “Firm” from the bottom of their hearts, and feeling that many afternoons like this would materially shorten their days.

Chapter Twenty Four.How our heroes turn their attention to the chase.During the few days which followed their gallant but unsuccessful attempt to “back up” Tom White, the “Firm” found plenty to think about nearer home.The rumour of the revolution in the “Select Sociables” spread rapidly over Templeton, and Freckleton was almost mobbed more than once by his new admirers. However, he kept his head, and steered his new ship craftily and carefully. By appealing to the patriotism and honour of his “Sociables,” he succeeded in getting the rules so amended and purified, that in a few days, instead of being a select Club of the worst characters in Templeton, its constitution was open enough to admit any boy who in any way proved himself a credit to the school.A still more important step was the voluntary disbanding of the old Club for the purpose of placing the new rules before a meeting of the whole school. This was not an easy thing to accomplish, for the old members knew, most of them, that their qualifications were the reverse of those which would make them eligible for membership according to the new rules. They therefore clung tenaciously to their hold, and it was not until Freckleton compromised the matter by promising to hold them eligible for election to the new Club, and exempt them from the conditions other fellows would have to fulfil to become eligible, that they finally gave way.It was a great day when, by virtue of a personal invitation to each boy in the Hermit’s name, Templeton met together in the Great Hall to put the new Club on its feet.It was remarked at this meeting that the Sixth took their places as ordinary Templetonians in the body of the hall, and not on the dais, and that the Den, which usually herded together at the lower end, was distributed here and there impartially.In fact, everyone was equal to-day, and the very knowledge of the fact seemed to put dignity and order into the assembly.After rather an awkward pause, during which it seemed doubtful how the business ought to begin, Freckleton stepped up on to the platform. His appearance was greeted by cheers, which, however, he immediately extinguished.“I think,” said he, quietly, “as this is quite a private meeting, you will all see cheering is hardly the thing. Suppose we do without it. It is very good of you fellows to come here in such numbers, and I only hope you’ll not hesitate to say what you think about the proposal I am going to make—for the question is one which the whole school ought to decide, and not any one particular clique or set among us. (Hear, hear.) You, all of you, know I believe, what the object of the meeting is. Up till quite recently we had a Club in Templeton which rejoiced in the name of the ‘Select Sociables.’ (Laughter.) It wasn’t a public Club—(laughter)—but most of the school, I fancy, had heard of its existence. (Laughter.) Gentlemen laugh, but I assure them I am telling the truth, and have good reason to know what I am talking about, as I happened to be the president of the ‘Select Sociables.’ (Hear, hear.) We found the Club wasn’t altogether flourishing. (Laughter.) Some of the rules wanted looking to, and a few of the members were not exactly the best specimens of Templeton form. (Loud laughter.) Gentlemen think there was a joke in that, I suppose. I didn’t see it myself. We put our heads together to see how the Club could be improved, and I am bound to say the old members came forward most patriotically and gave up their undoubted rights, in order to make the Club a thoroughly Templeton affair.”Cheers were raised here for the old “Sociables,” who never felt so virtuous in all their lives.“Now you want to hear what our proposal is. You’ll understand it best if I read the rough rules which the committee has drawn up:—”1. That the Club be called the “Select Sociables.”2. That the number of members be limited to thirty.3. That not more than six members be chosen from any one Form.“This is to prevent the Club getting crowded out with Sixth-form fellows—(loud cheers from the juniors)—or fellows from the Junior Third. (Laughter from the seniors.) It will insure each form getting represented on it by half a dozen of its best men.”4. That all Templetonians are eligible who have either—(a) Gained any prize or promotion in the school examinations.(b) Played in any of the school-house matches, senior or junior. (Cheers.)(c) Won any event at the school sports.(d) Run through any hunt with the Harriers. (Cheers.)(e) Swum round the Black Buoy. (Loud cheers.)(f) Done anything which, in the opinion of the school, has been for the good of Templeton.5. That all elections take place by ballot.6. That the first thirty members be elected by ballot by the whole school, and future vacancies be filled up by the Club.7. That all the original members of the old Club shall be considered eligible for election whether they have complied with any of the conditions named or not. (Laughter and blushes.)8. That if there are less than six fellows eligible in any Form, the number may be filled up from eligible candidates in the Form below.“There, that’s—roughly speaking—how it is proposed the new Club should be formed.”“We should like to know,” said Cresswell, rising, “what the Club will do, when it will meet, and so on?”“Well,” said Freckleton, “we thought we could get leave to use the library every evening; and, being a Sociable Club we should try to afford to take in a few of the illustrated and other papers, and manage supper together now and then, and make ourselves as comfortable as possible,”—(laughter and cheers, especially from the youngsters). “If we got talent enough in the Club, we might give the school a concert or a dramatic performance now and then, or, in the summer, try our hand at a picnic or a fishing cruise. If Cresswell gets elected himself—and he’d better not be too sure—he’ll find out that the ‘Sociables’ will have a very good idea of making themselves snug.” (Laughter.)“Is there to be any entrance-fee or subscription?” asked Birket. “We think fellows might be asked to subscribe half-a-crown a term. It’s not very much; and as the juniors usually have twice as much spare cash as we seniors, we don’t think they will shy at the Club for that,”—(loud cheers and laughter from the juniors).“There’s just one other thing, by the way,” continued the Hermit. “It’s only, perhaps, to be talking about turning fellows out of the Club, but we think we ought to protect ourselves by some rule which will make any member of the Club who does anything low or discreditable to Templeton liable to be politely requested to retire. I don’t mean mere monitors’ rows, of course. Fellows aren’t obliged to get into them, though they do. But I don’t think we ought to be too stiff, and turn a fellow out because he happens to get a hundred lines from Cartwright, for climbing one of the elms. (Laughter, and ‘hear, hear,’ from Cartwright.) He’s no business to climb elms, and it’s quite right to give him lines for it. But as long as he doesn’t do that sort of thing systematically, in defiance of rules, then, I say, let him find some place other than the club-room, to do his lines in—(hear, hear). The fellows the Club will want to protect itself against are the cads and sneaks and cheats, who may be knowing enough to keep square with the monitors, but are neither Select nor Sociable enough for a Club like ours. There, I never made such a long speech in all my life; I’m quite ashamed of myself.”Templeton forgot its good manners, and cheered loudly at this point.There was something about the genial, unassuming, straightforward Hermit which touched the fellows on their soft side, and made them accept him with pride as a representative of the truest Templeton spirit. They might not, perhaps, love him as fondly as they loved dear old lazy Ponty, but there was not one fellow who did not admire and respect him, or covet his good opinion.As soon as silence was obtained, Mansfield rose.It was a self-denying thing to do, and the Captain knew it. There was very little affection in the silence which fell on the room. He had given up, long since, expecting it. It said much for him that its absence neither soured nor embittered him. It made him unhappy, but he kept that to himself, and let it influence him not a whit in the path of duty he had set before him—a path from which not even the hatred of Templeton would have driven him.“I’m sure we are all very grateful to Freckleton,” he said. “It will be an honour to anyone to get into the Club, and for those who don’t get on at first, it will be something to look forward to and work for. I don’t think a better set of rules could have been drawn up. It will be a thoroughly representative Club of all that is good in Templeton. It doesn’t favour any one set of fellows more than another. Fellows who are good at work, and fellows who are good at sports have all an equal chance. The only sort of fellows it doesn’t favour are the louts and the cads, and the less they are favoured anywhere in Templeton the better. It’s a shame to trouble Freckleton with more questions, but some of us would like to know when the ballot for the new Club is to take place, and how he proposes we should vote?”There was a faint cheer as the Captain sat down. Templeton, whatever its likes and dislikes were, always appreciated generosity. And the Captain’s honest, ungrudging approval of a comrade who had already distanced him in the hold he exercised over Templeton, pleased them, and told in the speaker’s favour.“I think the best way would be,” said Freckleton, “for every fellow to make a list of the thirty fellows he thinks most eligible, between now and to-day week. If he can’t think of thirty, then let him put down all he can, remembering that there are not to be more than six in any form. To-day week we’ll have the ballot, and fellows will drop their lists into the box, and the highest thirty will be elected.”“Hadn’t we better have a list posted up somewhere of the names of fellows in each form who are eligible?” asked someone.“Certainly. I’ll have one up to-morrow, and if there are any corrections and additions to make, there will be time to make them, and get out a final list two days before the election.”Among the crowd which jostled in front of the list on the library door, next day, might have been seen the eager and disconsolate faces of our three heroes.Alas! not one of their names was there! Everybody else’s seemed to be there but their’s. Aspinall’s was there, of course, for Aspinall had won his remove with honour last term. Raggles was there, for Raggles had played in the junior tennis fours of Westover’s against the rival houses. Spokes was there, for Spokes had swum round the Black Buoy, and become a “shark.” Even Gosse was there, for Gosse had “walked over” for the high jumps for boys under 4 foot, 6 inches, last sports.Dick gulped down something like a groan, as he strained his eyes up and down the cruel list, in the vague hope of finding his name in some corner, however humble.But no. He turned away at last, with his two disconsolate friends, feeling more humiliated than he had ever felt in his life.He had done nothing for Templeton—he, who had passed for a leader among his compeers, and for a hero among his inferiors!His record was absolutely empty. In school he had failed miserably; out of school he had shirked sports in which he ought easily to have excelled and “rotted” when he might have been doing good execution for Templeton. He scoured his memory to think of anything that might savour of credit. There was the New Boys’ Race. He had won that, but that was all, and it didn’t count. He had thrashed Culver and been patted on the back for it, but that hadn’t got him on to the list.And, except for these two exploits, what good had he done? Nay, hadn’t he done harm instead of good? He had dragged Heathcote after him, and Heathcote and he had dragged Coote; and here they were all left out in the cold.Dick remembered the Ghost’s letter, and could have kicked himself for being so slow to take its advice.“We’re out of it,” said Georgie, dismally, as the three walked down the shady side of the fields. “I did think we might have scraped in somehow.”“Whatever could you have scraped in for?” asked Dick sharply. “Hadn’t you better give in we’ve been a pack of fools at once?”“So we have,” said Coote. “I’d have liked awfully to get in the Club. How stunning the picnics would be!”“Young ass!” said Dick, “the grub’s all you think about. Even if you got on the list, it doesn’t follow you’d be elected.”“It would be something, though, to get on the list,” said Georgie. “It makes a fellow feel so small to be out of it. Think of that howling young Gosse being on!”“Yes, and Raggles!” said Coote.“Look here, I say,” exclaimed Dick, suddenly stopping short in his walk, his face lighting up with the brilliancy of the inspiration, “what asses we are! There’s the first Harrier hunt of the season to-morrow. Of course, we’ll go and run through!”Heathcote whistled.“They sometimes run a twelve-miler,” said he.“Never mind if they run twelve hundred,” said Dick. “We’re bound to be in it, I tell you; it’s our only chance.”“Birket told me hardly anyone ever runs in it below the Upper Fourth.”“Can’t help that,” said Dick, decisively; “there’s nothing to prevent us.”“Oh, of course not,” said Heathcote, who inwardly reflected that there was nothing to prevent their jumping over the moon if they only could.“You’re game, then?”“All right,” replied the two pliable ones.“Hurrah! You know, we may not keep close up all the way, but if we can only run it through it’s all right. By Jove! I am glad I thought of it, aren’t you?”“Awfully,” they said.Templeton opened its eyes that evening when it saw the “Firm” solemnly go to bed at half-past seven.It wasn’t their usual practice to shorten their days in this manner, and it was evident this early retirement meant something.Speculation was set at rest next morning when, immediately after morning school, they appeared in their knickerbockers and running shoes and bare shins.“Hullo!” said Cresswell, who was the first to encounter them in this trim, “are you youngsters going to have a little run of your own?”Cresswell was in running costume, too—a model whipper-in—determined to do his part in the long afternoon’s work which he had cut out for himself and his Harriers.“We’re going to run in the big hunt,” said Dick, modestly.“What!” said the senior, laughing; “do you know what the run is?”“About twelve-miles, isn’t it?” said Coote, glad to air his knowledge.“Yes. I’m afraid it will be hardly worth your while to take such a short trot,” said Cresswell, with a grin.“We’re going to try,” said Dick, resolutely. “Who are the hares, Cresswell?”“Swinstead and Birket; good hares, too. But, I say, youngsters, you’d better not make asses of yourselves. If you like to come the first mile or two, all right, but take my advice and turn back before you’re too far from home.”“We’re going to run it through,” said Dick, “if we possibly can.”“We want to get on the Sociables’ list,” blurted out the confiding Coote; “that’s why.”Dick and Heathcote blushed up guiltily, and rushed their indiscreet chum off before he had time to unbosom himself further.Cresswell, with the grin still on his honest face, turned into Freckleton’s study.“By Jove! old man,” said he, “you’ll have a lot to answer for, the rate you’re going on. There are three youngsters—my fag Dick and his two chums—going to run this hunt through, because their names are not on your precious list. They’ll kill themselves.”“Hurrah!” cried the Hermit. “I’m delighted—not, of course, about the killing, but I like spirit. I hope they’ll scramble through. Mark my word, Cress., those three partners will make their mark in Templeton yet.”“They’re likely to make their mark at a coroner’s inquest,” said Cresswell. “Didyouever run in a twelve-mile hunt?”“No, thank you,” said the Hermit. “Well, I only hope they’ll cool down before they go too far, that’s all,” said the whipper-in. “They don’t know what they’re in for.”“They’re in for the ‘Sociables,’ and more power to them, say I,” said the Hermit. When Cresswell arrived at the meet, he found our heroes the centres of attraction to the crowd who usually assembled to see the hounds “throw off.”They bore their honours meekly, and affected an indifference they were far from feeling to the chaff and expostulations which showered upon them from all sides.“All show off!” cried Gosse. “They’ll sit down and have a nap under the first hedge, and make believe they ran it through.”“Come, youngsters,” said Cartwright, “you’ve had a jolly little game. Better go home and put on your trousers, and not try to be funny for too long together.”“Is it true,” said someone else, with a significant jerk of his head in the direction of the “Firm,” “that the hares are going to make a twenty-mile run of it, instead of twelve?”“Of course we go through Turner’s field, where the mad bulls are?” said another.Our heroes began to think the delay in starting was getting to be criminal. Everyone had turned up long ago. Whatever was keeping the hunt from beginning?Ah! there was Cresswell calling up the hares at last. Thank goodness!Swinstead and Birket,par nobile fratrum, were old stagers in the Templeton hunts, and fellows knew, when they buckled on their scent bags and tied their handkerchiefs round their waists, that the Harriers would have their work cut out for them before the day was over.“All ready?” asked the whipper-in, taking out his watch.“All serene!”“Off you go then!”And off went the hares at a long easy swing, out of the fields and up on to the breezy downs.“Now then, Harriers, peel!” said the whipper-in, when the hares had disappeared from view, and his watch showed seven minutes to have elapsed.Our heroes nervously obeyed the order, and confided their outer vesture to Aspinall’s custody.Then steeling their ears and hearts to the final sparks of chaff which greeted the action, they moved forward with the other hounds and waited Cresswell’s signal to go.It seemed ages before those three minutes crawled out. But at last the whipper-in put his watch back, and blew a blast on his bugle.“Forward!” shouted everybody.And the hunt was begun.

During the few days which followed their gallant but unsuccessful attempt to “back up” Tom White, the “Firm” found plenty to think about nearer home.

The rumour of the revolution in the “Select Sociables” spread rapidly over Templeton, and Freckleton was almost mobbed more than once by his new admirers. However, he kept his head, and steered his new ship craftily and carefully. By appealing to the patriotism and honour of his “Sociables,” he succeeded in getting the rules so amended and purified, that in a few days, instead of being a select Club of the worst characters in Templeton, its constitution was open enough to admit any boy who in any way proved himself a credit to the school.

A still more important step was the voluntary disbanding of the old Club for the purpose of placing the new rules before a meeting of the whole school. This was not an easy thing to accomplish, for the old members knew, most of them, that their qualifications were the reverse of those which would make them eligible for membership according to the new rules. They therefore clung tenaciously to their hold, and it was not until Freckleton compromised the matter by promising to hold them eligible for election to the new Club, and exempt them from the conditions other fellows would have to fulfil to become eligible, that they finally gave way.

It was a great day when, by virtue of a personal invitation to each boy in the Hermit’s name, Templeton met together in the Great Hall to put the new Club on its feet.

It was remarked at this meeting that the Sixth took their places as ordinary Templetonians in the body of the hall, and not on the dais, and that the Den, which usually herded together at the lower end, was distributed here and there impartially.

In fact, everyone was equal to-day, and the very knowledge of the fact seemed to put dignity and order into the assembly.

After rather an awkward pause, during which it seemed doubtful how the business ought to begin, Freckleton stepped up on to the platform. His appearance was greeted by cheers, which, however, he immediately extinguished.

“I think,” said he, quietly, “as this is quite a private meeting, you will all see cheering is hardly the thing. Suppose we do without it. It is very good of you fellows to come here in such numbers, and I only hope you’ll not hesitate to say what you think about the proposal I am going to make—for the question is one which the whole school ought to decide, and not any one particular clique or set among us. (Hear, hear.) You, all of you, know I believe, what the object of the meeting is. Up till quite recently we had a Club in Templeton which rejoiced in the name of the ‘Select Sociables.’ (Laughter.) It wasn’t a public Club—(laughter)—but most of the school, I fancy, had heard of its existence. (Laughter.) Gentlemen laugh, but I assure them I am telling the truth, and have good reason to know what I am talking about, as I happened to be the president of the ‘Select Sociables.’ (Hear, hear.) We found the Club wasn’t altogether flourishing. (Laughter.) Some of the rules wanted looking to, and a few of the members were not exactly the best specimens of Templeton form. (Loud laughter.) Gentlemen think there was a joke in that, I suppose. I didn’t see it myself. We put our heads together to see how the Club could be improved, and I am bound to say the old members came forward most patriotically and gave up their undoubted rights, in order to make the Club a thoroughly Templeton affair.”

Cheers were raised here for the old “Sociables,” who never felt so virtuous in all their lives.

“Now you want to hear what our proposal is. You’ll understand it best if I read the rough rules which the committee has drawn up:—”

1. That the Club be called the “Select Sociables.”

2. That the number of members be limited to thirty.

3. That not more than six members be chosen from any one Form.

“This is to prevent the Club getting crowded out with Sixth-form fellows—(loud cheers from the juniors)—or fellows from the Junior Third. (Laughter from the seniors.) It will insure each form getting represented on it by half a dozen of its best men.”

4. That all Templetonians are eligible who have either—

(a) Gained any prize or promotion in the school examinations.

(b) Played in any of the school-house matches, senior or junior. (Cheers.)

(c) Won any event at the school sports.

(d) Run through any hunt with the Harriers. (Cheers.)

(e) Swum round the Black Buoy. (Loud cheers.)

(f) Done anything which, in the opinion of the school, has been for the good of Templeton.

5. That all elections take place by ballot.

6. That the first thirty members be elected by ballot by the whole school, and future vacancies be filled up by the Club.

7. That all the original members of the old Club shall be considered eligible for election whether they have complied with any of the conditions named or not. (Laughter and blushes.)

8. That if there are less than six fellows eligible in any Form, the number may be filled up from eligible candidates in the Form below.

“There, that’s—roughly speaking—how it is proposed the new Club should be formed.”

“We should like to know,” said Cresswell, rising, “what the Club will do, when it will meet, and so on?”

“Well,” said Freckleton, “we thought we could get leave to use the library every evening; and, being a Sociable Club we should try to afford to take in a few of the illustrated and other papers, and manage supper together now and then, and make ourselves as comfortable as possible,”—(laughter and cheers, especially from the youngsters). “If we got talent enough in the Club, we might give the school a concert or a dramatic performance now and then, or, in the summer, try our hand at a picnic or a fishing cruise. If Cresswell gets elected himself—and he’d better not be too sure—he’ll find out that the ‘Sociables’ will have a very good idea of making themselves snug.” (Laughter.)

“Is there to be any entrance-fee or subscription?” asked Birket. “We think fellows might be asked to subscribe half-a-crown a term. It’s not very much; and as the juniors usually have twice as much spare cash as we seniors, we don’t think they will shy at the Club for that,”—(loud cheers and laughter from the juniors).

“There’s just one other thing, by the way,” continued the Hermit. “It’s only, perhaps, to be talking about turning fellows out of the Club, but we think we ought to protect ourselves by some rule which will make any member of the Club who does anything low or discreditable to Templeton liable to be politely requested to retire. I don’t mean mere monitors’ rows, of course. Fellows aren’t obliged to get into them, though they do. But I don’t think we ought to be too stiff, and turn a fellow out because he happens to get a hundred lines from Cartwright, for climbing one of the elms. (Laughter, and ‘hear, hear,’ from Cartwright.) He’s no business to climb elms, and it’s quite right to give him lines for it. But as long as he doesn’t do that sort of thing systematically, in defiance of rules, then, I say, let him find some place other than the club-room, to do his lines in—(hear, hear). The fellows the Club will want to protect itself against are the cads and sneaks and cheats, who may be knowing enough to keep square with the monitors, but are neither Select nor Sociable enough for a Club like ours. There, I never made such a long speech in all my life; I’m quite ashamed of myself.”

Templeton forgot its good manners, and cheered loudly at this point.

There was something about the genial, unassuming, straightforward Hermit which touched the fellows on their soft side, and made them accept him with pride as a representative of the truest Templeton spirit. They might not, perhaps, love him as fondly as they loved dear old lazy Ponty, but there was not one fellow who did not admire and respect him, or covet his good opinion.

As soon as silence was obtained, Mansfield rose.

It was a self-denying thing to do, and the Captain knew it. There was very little affection in the silence which fell on the room. He had given up, long since, expecting it. It said much for him that its absence neither soured nor embittered him. It made him unhappy, but he kept that to himself, and let it influence him not a whit in the path of duty he had set before him—a path from which not even the hatred of Templeton would have driven him.

“I’m sure we are all very grateful to Freckleton,” he said. “It will be an honour to anyone to get into the Club, and for those who don’t get on at first, it will be something to look forward to and work for. I don’t think a better set of rules could have been drawn up. It will be a thoroughly representative Club of all that is good in Templeton. It doesn’t favour any one set of fellows more than another. Fellows who are good at work, and fellows who are good at sports have all an equal chance. The only sort of fellows it doesn’t favour are the louts and the cads, and the less they are favoured anywhere in Templeton the better. It’s a shame to trouble Freckleton with more questions, but some of us would like to know when the ballot for the new Club is to take place, and how he proposes we should vote?”

There was a faint cheer as the Captain sat down. Templeton, whatever its likes and dislikes were, always appreciated generosity. And the Captain’s honest, ungrudging approval of a comrade who had already distanced him in the hold he exercised over Templeton, pleased them, and told in the speaker’s favour.

“I think the best way would be,” said Freckleton, “for every fellow to make a list of the thirty fellows he thinks most eligible, between now and to-day week. If he can’t think of thirty, then let him put down all he can, remembering that there are not to be more than six in any form. To-day week we’ll have the ballot, and fellows will drop their lists into the box, and the highest thirty will be elected.”

“Hadn’t we better have a list posted up somewhere of the names of fellows in each form who are eligible?” asked someone.

“Certainly. I’ll have one up to-morrow, and if there are any corrections and additions to make, there will be time to make them, and get out a final list two days before the election.”

Among the crowd which jostled in front of the list on the library door, next day, might have been seen the eager and disconsolate faces of our three heroes.

Alas! not one of their names was there! Everybody else’s seemed to be there but their’s. Aspinall’s was there, of course, for Aspinall had won his remove with honour last term. Raggles was there, for Raggles had played in the junior tennis fours of Westover’s against the rival houses. Spokes was there, for Spokes had swum round the Black Buoy, and become a “shark.” Even Gosse was there, for Gosse had “walked over” for the high jumps for boys under 4 foot, 6 inches, last sports.

Dick gulped down something like a groan, as he strained his eyes up and down the cruel list, in the vague hope of finding his name in some corner, however humble.

But no. He turned away at last, with his two disconsolate friends, feeling more humiliated than he had ever felt in his life.

He had done nothing for Templeton—he, who had passed for a leader among his compeers, and for a hero among his inferiors!

His record was absolutely empty. In school he had failed miserably; out of school he had shirked sports in which he ought easily to have excelled and “rotted” when he might have been doing good execution for Templeton. He scoured his memory to think of anything that might savour of credit. There was the New Boys’ Race. He had won that, but that was all, and it didn’t count. He had thrashed Culver and been patted on the back for it, but that hadn’t got him on to the list.

And, except for these two exploits, what good had he done? Nay, hadn’t he done harm instead of good? He had dragged Heathcote after him, and Heathcote and he had dragged Coote; and here they were all left out in the cold.

Dick remembered the Ghost’s letter, and could have kicked himself for being so slow to take its advice.

“We’re out of it,” said Georgie, dismally, as the three walked down the shady side of the fields. “I did think we might have scraped in somehow.”

“Whatever could you have scraped in for?” asked Dick sharply. “Hadn’t you better give in we’ve been a pack of fools at once?”

“So we have,” said Coote. “I’d have liked awfully to get in the Club. How stunning the picnics would be!”

“Young ass!” said Dick, “the grub’s all you think about. Even if you got on the list, it doesn’t follow you’d be elected.”

“It would be something, though, to get on the list,” said Georgie. “It makes a fellow feel so small to be out of it. Think of that howling young Gosse being on!”

“Yes, and Raggles!” said Coote.

“Look here, I say,” exclaimed Dick, suddenly stopping short in his walk, his face lighting up with the brilliancy of the inspiration, “what asses we are! There’s the first Harrier hunt of the season to-morrow. Of course, we’ll go and run through!”

Heathcote whistled.

“They sometimes run a twelve-miler,” said he.

“Never mind if they run twelve hundred,” said Dick. “We’re bound to be in it, I tell you; it’s our only chance.”

“Birket told me hardly anyone ever runs in it below the Upper Fourth.”

“Can’t help that,” said Dick, decisively; “there’s nothing to prevent us.”

“Oh, of course not,” said Heathcote, who inwardly reflected that there was nothing to prevent their jumping over the moon if they only could.

“You’re game, then?”

“All right,” replied the two pliable ones.

“Hurrah! You know, we may not keep close up all the way, but if we can only run it through it’s all right. By Jove! I am glad I thought of it, aren’t you?”

“Awfully,” they said.

Templeton opened its eyes that evening when it saw the “Firm” solemnly go to bed at half-past seven.

It wasn’t their usual practice to shorten their days in this manner, and it was evident this early retirement meant something.

Speculation was set at rest next morning when, immediately after morning school, they appeared in their knickerbockers and running shoes and bare shins.

“Hullo!” said Cresswell, who was the first to encounter them in this trim, “are you youngsters going to have a little run of your own?”

Cresswell was in running costume, too—a model whipper-in—determined to do his part in the long afternoon’s work which he had cut out for himself and his Harriers.

“We’re going to run in the big hunt,” said Dick, modestly.

“What!” said the senior, laughing; “do you know what the run is?”

“About twelve-miles, isn’t it?” said Coote, glad to air his knowledge.

“Yes. I’m afraid it will be hardly worth your while to take such a short trot,” said Cresswell, with a grin.

“We’re going to try,” said Dick, resolutely. “Who are the hares, Cresswell?”

“Swinstead and Birket; good hares, too. But, I say, youngsters, you’d better not make asses of yourselves. If you like to come the first mile or two, all right, but take my advice and turn back before you’re too far from home.”

“We’re going to run it through,” said Dick, “if we possibly can.”

“We want to get on the Sociables’ list,” blurted out the confiding Coote; “that’s why.”

Dick and Heathcote blushed up guiltily, and rushed their indiscreet chum off before he had time to unbosom himself further.

Cresswell, with the grin still on his honest face, turned into Freckleton’s study.

“By Jove! old man,” said he, “you’ll have a lot to answer for, the rate you’re going on. There are three youngsters—my fag Dick and his two chums—going to run this hunt through, because their names are not on your precious list. They’ll kill themselves.”

“Hurrah!” cried the Hermit. “I’m delighted—not, of course, about the killing, but I like spirit. I hope they’ll scramble through. Mark my word, Cress., those three partners will make their mark in Templeton yet.”

“They’re likely to make their mark at a coroner’s inquest,” said Cresswell. “Didyouever run in a twelve-mile hunt?”

“No, thank you,” said the Hermit. “Well, I only hope they’ll cool down before they go too far, that’s all,” said the whipper-in. “They don’t know what they’re in for.”

“They’re in for the ‘Sociables,’ and more power to them, say I,” said the Hermit. When Cresswell arrived at the meet, he found our heroes the centres of attraction to the crowd who usually assembled to see the hounds “throw off.”

They bore their honours meekly, and affected an indifference they were far from feeling to the chaff and expostulations which showered upon them from all sides.

“All show off!” cried Gosse. “They’ll sit down and have a nap under the first hedge, and make believe they ran it through.”

“Come, youngsters,” said Cartwright, “you’ve had a jolly little game. Better go home and put on your trousers, and not try to be funny for too long together.”

“Is it true,” said someone else, with a significant jerk of his head in the direction of the “Firm,” “that the hares are going to make a twenty-mile run of it, instead of twelve?”

“Of course we go through Turner’s field, where the mad bulls are?” said another.

Our heroes began to think the delay in starting was getting to be criminal. Everyone had turned up long ago. Whatever was keeping the hunt from beginning?

Ah! there was Cresswell calling up the hares at last. Thank goodness!

Swinstead and Birket,par nobile fratrum, were old stagers in the Templeton hunts, and fellows knew, when they buckled on their scent bags and tied their handkerchiefs round their waists, that the Harriers would have their work cut out for them before the day was over.

“All ready?” asked the whipper-in, taking out his watch.

“All serene!”

“Off you go then!”

And off went the hares at a long easy swing, out of the fields and up on to the breezy downs.

“Now then, Harriers, peel!” said the whipper-in, when the hares had disappeared from view, and his watch showed seven minutes to have elapsed.

Our heroes nervously obeyed the order, and confided their outer vesture to Aspinall’s custody.

Then steeling their ears and hearts to the final sparks of chaff which greeted the action, they moved forward with the other hounds and waited Cresswell’s signal to go.

It seemed ages before those three minutes crawled out. But at last the whipper-in put his watch back, and blew a blast on his bugle.

“Forward!” shouted everybody.

And the hunt was begun.

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