Adams considered this.
“And how about telling the Head that the form cribs?” he asked. “Perhaps he’d join in and take some of the work himself!”
Maddox laughed again.
“Gosh, what a time Remove A’s going to have,” he said. “But the Head mustn’t make it retrospective. It must all be found out afresh, sir, if you see what I mean.”
Adams nodded.
“Yes,” he said. “The Head will understand that.”
Later in the day a conference between the powers hostile to Remove A was held (the powers in question being the Head, Adams, and Maddox) and a diabolical plan of campaign was hatched. The classical work of the form, hitherto presided over, blindfold, so to speak, by Mr. Tovey, was to be taken with the suddenness of a thunderstorm by Maddox. Not a word was to be said; he was simply to march in at early school next day, and open fire on his own system. The lesson was Virgil, and that evening he closely studied the excellent translation as given by Mr. Bohn in the volume he had confiscated from David.
Construing began from the top of the form, and boy after boy translated with extreme elegance and fluency, and Maddox was beaming and complimentary. Among his other weird accomplishments he knew shorthand, and, screened by the sloping cover of his desk, he made an accurate transcript of what the translation of each boy had been.
“Yes, very good, very good indeed,” he said when this was finished. “Quite a lot of you have got full marks.”
He opened the lid of his desk, and took out of it the Virgil crib which he had confiscated from David three days before.