It was a warm and weary company of boy-labourers who gathered at eight o'clock that evening round a very tempting supper-table, spread in the Brincliffe dining-room, to which, by special invitation, the day-pupils sat down with the boarders. But every face was bright, and the meal was the merriest ever known.
By Mr. West's direction, the boys were left to enjoy it "un-mastered".
The clatter of knives and spoons had almost ceased when Vickers rose slowly to his feet, a glass of ginger-beer in his hand. He was impelled to do so by the nudges of his neighbours, Green and Mason. His rising was received with loud applause, which he acknowledged with a grave bow.
"I have been very much pressed—elbow-pressed," he began, "to get up and say something. I scarcely see why I should be pitched on, unless it is because I have more brass than the rest of you. (Hear, hear.) Anyhow, here I am, and I'll ask three questions and then sit down. First"—and up came one finger—"Isn't this the jolliest supper we've ever had? (Cries of "Yes!") Very well, I'll tell you why. Reason Number One: West's in a jolly good temper, vide the groaning table and the absence of masters. Reason Number Two: We're all in a jolly good temper, and have done a jolly good day's work. Now, secondly—(Shouts of "Thirdly, you mean, old man!") I mean what I say—Secondly! We had two divisions under the first head. You may have got confused, but I haven't. Secondly, then, we're all pretty thoroughly fagged: is anyone sorry he's fagged? (No!) Well, the job wasn't my idea, or West's idea. But it was somebody's, and I think we all know whose. The same somebody who has annoyed us all horribly in the past by refusing to so much as do one ill-natured thing. The same somebody who has steadily prevented us from quarrelling comfortably and consistently, as we wanted to, and has finally dragged us into this unhappy state of good-fellowship. Now for my thirdly: Will you drink with me to that somebody's health?"
The question was received with shouting and banging, while the words, "Bravo, Vickers! Here's to good old Brady!" "I drink to Jack of Both Sides!" "Here's to you, Jack!" "Speech, Brady—speech!" and similar cries filled the air.
Poor Jack felt extremely ill at ease, and not at all grateful to Vickers. He studied his plate with the closest attention, his face growing redder and redder each moment. Then Cadbury thumped him on the back, and Hallett and Bacon fairly forced him to his feet. But a speech was quite beyond Jack at that minute.
"I say, sha'n't we beg the release of the March Hare?" was all he said, and the first person he looked at was Armitage.
Armitage, too, was the first to cry back, "Yes!"
The petition, which was written and signed before they separated, was received favourably, and the following Monday saw the return of the March Hare to his place in the school, scared, penitent, and profoundly grateful to all his school-fellows, including Armitage. And he insisted on pressing Jack's hand to his lips, which made our hero feel excessively uncomfortable. But for the remainder of the term, the use of a knife, even at dinner, was denied the little Italian.