"Don't interfere, Forbes," rapped out Trundle. "Take them off, I say."
"Oh, do you mean our waistcoats, sir?" asked Hunter, in superbly feigned surprise. "We couldn't take them off; we should catch a cold. The Headmaster has just given out a notice about them. He said we could wear them."
"He never gave you permission to garb yourselves in the refuse of the neighbourhood."
"Refuse?" said Forbes. "Those waistcoats are of a most fashionable cut. It's extremely hard to get that particular brand of cloth; my brother, who is a member of the Bullingdon, told me——"
"I don't want to know anything about your brother, Forbes. Take off those things. The Headmaster would never allow them."
"But, sir," insisted Archie. "He only said that they must be of a quiet colour, and they are of a quiet colour, aren't they, sir?"
In truth they were. There was not a trace of colour visible anywhere. Trundle gave in. He murmured something about asking the Headmaster, and then put on Archie to con. He never asked the Chief; and there was no need for him to do so. It is not pleasant wearing dust-laden carpets for an hour. Such jests can only be undertaken at rare intervals.
But the culminating point was not reached till the last Thursday of the term. It was boat-race day, and the set unanimously backed Oxford. At ten o'clock the set was due to appear. But when Trundle arrived all he found was Benson, who was in nervous apprehension lest he should have come to the wrong room. If he had, he might lose some marks; and marks were more to him than many boundaries. He smiled happily at Trundle.
"Ah, where are the rest, Benson?"
"I don't know, sir."