"I sit between Vickers and Green," Mason added.
"But look here, you must chuck that stuff away," cried Jack. He knew that as a good-humoured joke an inch of crawly can be tolerated, but when used in malice, nothing is more irritating. "Chuck it away! We've all agreed to call Pax now, Pax for good and all."
"Oh, I dare say!" retorted Mason. "When our lives have been made a burden for the last week! Who are the 'all' who've agreed, pray?"
"The whole lot of the boarders. They're ready to chum up right away. Mason, you must agree! We've got to join forces over Saturday's job."
But Mason didn't see it. Nor did Armitage. Nor did Bacon. And the rest were doubtful, except little Frere, who declared at once that he was longing to be friends with everybody—and to feel safe.
"But don't mind us, Brady," pursued Mason. "We aren't so sweet on shoving wheel-barrows as all that. You and your dear Green and the rest can have the whole glory and honour of the pots and the barrows to yourselves. We won't fight for them, will we? After all, there are more amusing ways of spending a half than in wheeling flower-pots round the town."
Jack's hopes sank. He did not feel equal to making a second speech, but he caught Mason by the arm, and spoke with vehement emphasis:
"It's an awful responsible thing, Mason, to refuse to patch a quarrel. The chance of making-up doesn't come every day."
"We must have a chance of getting even with them first, and then we'll talk about stopping."
"Nonsense! You know that tit-for-tat's a game without an end!"