Chapter Twenty Eight.
How Nemesis makes her final call.
Our heroes, as they returned arm-in-arm from the trial of Tom White, were conscious that in proportion as the troubles behind them diminished, those ahead loomed out big and ominous.
They had escaped transportation; at least, so they told one another; and although, when all was said and done, they had not done much towards righting Tom White or recovering the Martha still, somehow, Nemesis had been “choked off” in that direction.
But when they turned their faces from what lay behind to the immediate future, their hearts failed them. They had staked high for the “Sociables.” Their run with the Harriers had been no trifle: and far more important was the general attention it had drawn to themselves, and to their efforts to get into, the select company. Their candidature was a master of public notoriety, and if Pledge should at the last moment carry out his threat, their fall would be sad in proportion.
When they reached Templeton they found the place in a ferment. Fellows were going about with pencils and paper, making up their lists.
“I say,” said Pauncefote, waylaying our heroes as they entered the Den; “vote for us, I say. I’ll vote for you.”
“Oh, ah!” said Dick; “that means we give you three votes, and you only give us one. See any green? You get a couple of other chaps to stick us down, and then we’ll do it.”
Pauncefote, rather bewildered by this way of putting the matter, went off immediately, and canvassed actively among his particular friends on behalf of the “Firm;” which was very kind of him, as several fellows told him.
“Look here, you fellows,” said Gosse, approaching the “Firm” with a troubled face, “do you know anybody in the lower Fourth who isn’t a cad? I’ve got down all the other forms, but I can’t get a single decent name for the lower Fourth.”
“Aspinall,” said Dick.
“But he’s such a muff. I’d be ashamed to put him down.”
“Aspinall would lick you left-handed at tennis, and knows more Greek than you know English,” said Dick, hotly; for he always looked upon the Devonshire boy as a credit to his protecting arm. “If you call that being a muff, well, he is one, and you aren’t, that’s all.”
Gosse received this judgment with attention, and went off to have a private look at Aspinall at close quarters.
“Oh, I say, Dick,” said Raggles, whom our heroes presently found absorbed in the deepest study; “here’s a go! We’ve only got to put down six in each form, and I’ve got a dozen down for ours, and don’t see I can cut any of them out.”
“Let’s hear their names,” said Dick.
“All serene! Raggles—”
“By Jove, that’s modest! You’re determined he’s to have one vote.”
“Oh, you know, I believe I’m safe; but, of course, everybody votes for himself.”
“Go on. Who are the rest?”
“Raggles, Culver, Pauncefote, Smith, Gosse, Starkey, Crisp, Calverly, Strahan, Jobling, Cazenove, and—well, I thought of sticking down one of you three for the twelfth.”
“Thanks,” said Dick. “We aren’t particular, are we, you chaps?”
“I’m not,” said Coote. “You can stick me down if you like, Rag.”
Raggles, finding not much assistance forthcoming to help him in his difficulty, retired to a quiet corner, and privately tossed up for each name in succession. As his penny came down “tails” persistently both for himself and everybody else, except Gosse, he resorted to the less risky method of shutting his eyes, and dropping six blots on his paper. This happy expedient was only partially successful, as none of the blots fell anywhere near any of the names. Finally, as time was growing short, he put down his own name on the paper, and resolved to sacrifice his other votes. And when he had done it, he rather wondered the idea had never struck him before.
Our heroes meanwhile were busy with their own lists, which, under Dick’s guiding influence, rapidly filled up with a set of good names. When it came to their own Form they agreed that, being a “Firm” and all “in it,” they were entitled each of them to vote for the “Firm” as a body; which they did amid much mutual rejoicing.
At a quarter to four the big Hall began to fill. Everybody was there. Fellows who were on the list, sanguine, anxious, touchy; fellows who were not on the list, cross, sarcastic, righteous. Nearly every one had his paper in his hand, which he furtively glanced through for the last time before the summons to deposit it in the basket on the platform.
As before, the Sixth took rank as ordinary Templetonians, and no distinction was made between monitor and junior, eligible and non-eligible.
When the clock struck there were loud cries for Freckleton, who accordingly ascended the dais, and, after waiting patiently for order, proceeded to explain the order of election.
“I suppose,” said he, “all of us who mean to vote have by this time filled up our papers with the names of the fellows we think most worthy to be elected on the new Club. You’d better have a last look to see you haven’t put down more than thirty names altogether, and that there are not more than six in any one Form. Also make sure you have none of you signed your names to the papers, as this is secret voting, and it’s not supposed to be known how any one has voted. Now, will fellows come up by benches and drop their papers into the basket?”
The front bench, consisting chiefly of Sixth-form fellows, obeyed the invitation, and deposited their papers in the receptacle. The rest of the meeting could not forbear the luxury of a few cheers as popular and unpopular seniors presented themselves; but, on the whole, the ceremony was gone through rapidly and in an orderly fashion.
Among the juniors, the Firm walked solemnly up the room amid cheers and cries of “Well run, puppies!” and gave in their votes. They glanced nervously round at Pledge, where he sat with a sneer on his face, and did not like the looks of him. The sneer they would have thought nothing of, but there was a serious, half-determined look about him which was ominous.
“The beast!” whispered Dick. “He’s going to do something.”
“Ugh!” said Georgie, “to think I ever liked him!”
“Now,” said Freckleton, when the voting was over, “to insure the counting being fairly done, I propose that three fellows who have not had the good luck to be on the list be asked to count. I dare say they won’t grudge the trouble, and it will be satisfactory to everybody to know they see fair play for the rest.” (Hear, hear.) “Will any three fellows volunteer?”
Five stood up.
“Will you five choose three among you?” said Freckleton.
This was soon done, and the scrutineers were in a few moments buried in their work, watched eagerly by many anxious eyes.
It took a good while, but to our heroes, as they sat and watched Pledge’s ugly look, the end seemed to come all too soon.
There was a loud hum of excitement when the list, as finally made out, was handed solemnly to Freckleton.
“I think, if you don’t mind,” said the Hermit, passing it back, “as I am an interested party, it would be better if one of you read it.”
“All right,” said the obliging scrutineer. “Gentlemen,—Unaccustomed as I am to public speaking, I beg to read you the list of the Sociables’ Club. I don’t see my own name on the list, but perhaps you’ll consider the fag we three have been put to this afternoon is a public service for the good of Templeton. If so, please remember the poor scrutineers at the next election.” (Cheers and laughter.) “Now for the list.”
“Better only read the names of the elected ones in each form, and not the number of votes,” suggested Freckleton.
“Lucky Freckleton said so,” remarked the scrutineer, “or I should have told you that his name is at the top of the poll by a very long start.” (Tremendous cheers.) “But, as I’m not to let out figures, all I can say is, he’s in. And so are Crossfield, Cartwright, Swinstead, Frith, and Mansfield for the Sixth-Form.”
It was curious to notice the effect of this announcement on the meeting generally and on the boys specially concerned. As name followed name without that of the Captain, fellows looked round at one another in something like consternation. After all, the Captain of Templeton was the Captain of Templeton, and those who had not voted for him had made sure other fellows would. But when five names were read out, and it was found that even Swinstead and Frith were elected, a sudden tide of repentance set in, which found vent in an unexpected cheer as the Captain’s name followed. Templeton felt it had had a narrow escape of making itself foolish, and the cheer was quite as much one of relief as of congratulation.
Mansfield may have understood it. He had kept his eyes steadily on the reader, with a slight flush on his quiet face, and fellows who watched him could not tell whether the peculiar gleam which passed his eyes as his name was read was one of triumph or vexation. Whatever it was, every one knew the Captain would be altered neither in purpose nor motive by the incident. Jupiter would be Jupiter still, whether in Olympus or out of it; and Templeton, on the whole, felt that, had the vote gone otherwise, it would have had quite as much blushing to do as the defeated hero.
The scrutineer continued his list in order of forms. Of our particular acquaintance, Birket, Hooker, Duffield, Braider, and Aspinall all got safely “landed,” while Bull, Wrangham, and Spokes were passed over.
Templeton, in fact, was a very good judge of honour when it was put to the choice, and even the enemies of the new Club could not help admitting that the best men, on the whole, were the elected ones.
A grim silence fell on the Hall as the scrutineer said—
“Now, Gentlemen, the Upper Third. The following are elected:—
“Richardson.”
Dick caught his breath and felt he dared not move a muscle. Pledge was looking that way, and, as the boy’s eyes and his enemy’s met, the cheers of the Den sounded feeble, and the shouts of the Firm were spiritless.
“Pauncefote.”
Dick started again at this and shook off the spell that was upon him. How dared Pauncefote come between him and his Firm? If fellows voted for him—Dick—what on earth did they mean by not voting also for Georgie and Coote? He faced defiantly round towards the reader and waited for the next name.
“Smith.”
Dick quailed as he listened to the mighty cheer with which Pauncefote welcomed his chum into the realms of the Select. Pauncefote and Smith were partners; they hunted in couples, they wrote novels together: and here they were side by side, while the “Firm” was cruelly severed member from member. Surely Nemesis was having a fling too many if this was her doing!
“Heathcote.”
“Ah! about time, too,” thought Dick, as he raised his voice in a defiant cheer. He’d like a quiet five minutes with the fellows who had dared to pass his chum by in the voting. But, at any rate, Georgie was safe, and, if only Coote came next, the “Firm” could afford to snap its fingers at its constituents.
“Cazenove.”
What! fat Cazenove jammed in between the “Firm” and its junior partner! Dick and Georgie glared at him, scarcely able to repress a howl at the sight of his smiling expanse of countenance. It had never occurred to any of them that the ballot may part friends whom not even a sentence of transportation could have severed, and they looked on, now more than half bewildered, as the scrutineer read out the sixth name.
“For the sixth place,” said he, “there appears to be a dead-heat. Calverly and Coote have both the same number of votes. What’s to be done, mighty Lycurgus?”
“Say you retire!” shouted Dick to the astonished Calverly, on whom the announcement had fallen with as much surprise as it had on his friends.
“Don’t you do anything of the sort,” shouted Gosse; “you’re are as good as that lot. Stick in!”
“Of course he will,” shouted others.
So Calverly announced he would stick in, and Coote had better retire, a suggestion Coote did not even condescend to notice. He was in his “Firm’s” hands, and the “Firm” were determined to fight the thing out till they had not a toe to stand on.
“The simplest way,” said Freckleton, “is to vote again for the two. What do you say, gentlemen of the Den?”
“All right,” roared the Den.
“What’s it to be: ballot or show of hands?”
“Show of hands,” shouted most of them.
“Do you agree to show of hands, you two,” said Freckleton, “or would you sooner have ballot?”
“I’d rather have show of hands,” said Calverly.
“So would Coote,” shouted Dick and Georgie.
“Then those who vote for Calverly hold up one hand,” said Freckleton.
It was a big show, and the scrutineers, as they went from bench to bench, counted 141.
“Now for Coote.”
Every one could see it was a terribly close affair. As Dick and Georgie scanned the benches, their hearts sank at the sight of so many not voting.
“Another dead-heat, I expect,” said Pauncefote.
The suggestion drove Dick almost frantic. Coote must come in, or the consequences would be awful.
“Now, you fellows,” he cried, starting up and addressing Templeton generally, as the scrutineers started on their rounds, “all together for old Coote! Don’t forget his trot with the Harriers!”
This simple election speech called forth a cheer, and, better still, sent up two or three more hands.
Loud cries of “Order” from the top end of the room prevented any further appeal, and amid dead silence the scrutineers finished their work.
“For Coote,” announced the spokesman, “there are 146.”
Then did the “Firm” go mad, and lose their heads. Then did they yell till their throats were hoarse, and wave their hands till their arms ached.
Then did they link arms, as they sat victorious, and forget the sorrows of a term in that one paean of victory.
“Very close,” they heard Freckleton say, as soon as order was restored. “Are you satisfied, Calverly?”
Woe betide Calverly had he ventured to be otherwise!
“All right,” he said, meekly, cowed by the mighty triumph of the “Firm.”
“Then Coote is in,” announced the scrutineers.
The election was over, and Freckleton was about to disperse the meeting, when it was noticed Pledge was on his legs, trying to speak.
A low hiss and groan went round the Hall, but curiosity to hear what the deposed monitor had to say at such a time restored order.
Three boys alone knew what it all meant, and their faces blanched, and their limbs shook, as they looked out from their retreat and awaited their fate.
“Perhaps,” said Pledge, “as this is a public meeting, you will allow me, though I have not the proud honour of being a ‘Sociable,’ and although I believe I am not a monitor either, to ask a question. I assure you I do it in the interests of Templeton, and of your immaculate Club. I don’t suppose any one will thank me for doing it, and I am glad to say I have ceased to expect thanks. You may attribute any motive you like to me; the worse it is, probably, the better you will be satisfied. I certainly shall not trouble to tell you my motive, except that it is for your good. All I want to ask is, whether this meeting is aware that three members of the new Club are at this moment under the eyes of the police, for a disgraceful act of theft committed in the town; and, if so, whether you think that fact increases their claims to become members of a Club which is to be a credit to Templeton?”
The speech was heard in dead silence. But as it closed, a storm broke forth from all quarters of the Hall.
“Name! Sneak! Cad! Name!”
The angry spots blazed out in Pledge’s cheeks as he faced the storm and heard the cries.
“You want the names, do you? You think, perhaps, I do not dare to give them. I do dare, though I stand here single-handed. The three boys are Richardson, Heathcote, and Coote, and if you don’t believe me, ask them.”
Another dead silence followed this announcement, and all eyes turned to where the “Firm” sat, pale and quivering.
Before, however, they could say a word, Mansfield rose, and stepped up on to the platform.
“Pledge has, for reasons best known to himself, charged three boys here with theft. Unlike his usual manner, he makes the charge in public before the whole school; and that being so, it is only fair the whole school should hear from him and his witnesses, if he has any, what the theft is.”
The Captain’s words were greeted with cries of approval from the meeting, and every one turned now to Pledge.
He stood a moment irresolute, scowling at his arch-enemy, and longing to be able to include him in the accusation he brought against his protégés. Then, with a half-swagger, he stepped on to the platform.
“If the Captain thinks I’m afraid to do what he asks, he’s mistaken. I don’t believe in hole-and-corner business. And as he has challenged me to accuse his three young friends in public and bring my witness, I will do both.”
“What witness?” groaned Heathcote, in a whisper to Dick.
“Don’t talk to me,” hissed Dick, between his teeth.
“Go on,” said Mansfield, to the accuser.
“Thank you. So I will. A fortnight ago, gentlemen, a small boy went down to Templeton—”
“Wait!” interposed Mansfield, “we must have names. What boy?”
“A small boy named Coote,” began Pledge.
Coote, at the sound of his name, half-bounded from his seat. He knew he was “in it.” But what on earth had any proceedings of his a fortnight ago to do with the loss of the Martha?
“Went down to Templeton to a shop—”
“What shop?” demanded Mansfield.
“To Webster’s shop,” replied Pledge, beginning to be ruffled by the Captain’s determined manner.
The “Firm” started suddenly. Whatever was coming?
“While spending his time in the shop, the young gentleman, as young gentlemen sometimes do, stole a silver pencil.”
There was a pause, and every eye turned towards Coote, who gaped at the announcement and stared at his partners as if he had been confronted with a ghost.
On Dick’s countenance a curious change was taking place. Horror had already given way to bewilderment, and bewilderment was in turn giving way to something which actually looked like a grin.
“The young gentleman,” proceeded Pledge, “had two dear friends, called Richardson and Heathcote, to whom he confided his stroke of business, and who joined him in concealing or disposing of the stolen article.”
Dick could remain silent no longer. To the horror of his Firm, and the bewilderment of every one else—most of all, Pledge—he burst into a laugh, which sounded weird in the dead silence.
“Order!” cried Mansfield, sternly. “Go on, Pledge.”
“I heard of the theft from the—from Webster immediately after it occurred, and for the last fortnight have been watching the culprits—”
Here he was interrupted by a hiss, which the Captain immediately suppressed.
“And they have actually admitted their guilt in begging me not to tell of them to you.”
At this point Dick started up excitedly, and began—
“I should like to say—”
But the Captain stopped him.
“You will be heard shortly. First of all we must hear Pledge’s witness.”
“Certainly. I told Webster to call up at half-past four. He doesn’t know what for. You’d better have him in. I’ll go and fetch him.”
“No,” said the Captain. “Aspinall, will you ask him to come in?”