"But one won't, that's just it," asserted Clive. What "it" was exactly he failed to explain. However, he soon cleared up the resulting mystery.
"Who's going to be such an ass as to go in a school cap?" he asked haughtily. "We'll sneak our bowlers out of store and no one'll be the wiser."
"But how are we to get there?" asked Bert. "That's the question we started with. Everyone knows there's to be such a show. Guildford's a long step away, and the train's out of the question."
"Ah, but you've forgotten Higgins. There's Higgins," Clive reminded them.
Yes, there was Higgins, one of those artful, ingratiating scoundrels ever the dread of a Headmaster, ever the attraction of fellows at school. For this man in question, like many another at other schools than Ranleigh, stocked articles contraband at the school but much sought after by boys. The master of a sweet-stuff shop, wherein was combined a tobacconist business, he could be visited by those who had obtained a pass to the village. Stores of cigarettes were obtained from him. Susanne, whose bad habits had commenced with a somewhat liberal or free education in France prior to coming to England, had no difficulty in purchasing there what smokes he required; while one boy of Clive's acquaintance had even bought a revolver, though for what purpose even he could not say.
"There's Higgins, yes," reflected Clive.
"Who's all serene. He's offered to take us in a brake he can hire. We can join him up at the back of the school and none be the wiser. Call the trip ten miles there, and the same back. Well, we're on the spot in a little more than an hour."
Masters turned a glowing countenance to his friends. But Clive showed disapproval.
"An hour or more. What's the use of wasting all that time on the road? Let's do the thing in style or not at all. Let's go by motor. Higgins can manage that just as easily."
"At a price! He don't forget to open his mouth too."