Jack stormed and raved, and threatened what he would do if they should encounter the tramp again; but of the two, Valentine felt the punishment far more acutely than his cousin. He was not accustomed to rows; and for a boy with his naturally high sense of honour, the mere thought that the headmaster suspected him of telling a falsehood was ten times worse than the fact of being "gated."
The term ran on, and at length the last day arrived; a day of perfect happiness, with no more work, and a letter by the first post from Queen Mab, saying that the pony-carriage would meet the train as usual at Hornalby station. The prize-giving, with the Mayor of Melchester in the chair, and Augustus Powler, Esq., M.P., and other grandees, upon the platform, was a very serious and formal business; the Past and Present match, in which Preston, the coming man in bowling, took seven wickets, and dear old Clayton, a bygone captain, lifted a ball over the roof of the pavilion, was certainly more interesting; but, at all events, in the opinion of all those concerned, the chief event of the day was the annual supper of the Fifth Form Literary Society.
"Come along," cried Tinkleby, as the cheers which greeted a win for the Present were gradually dying away—"come along. I told Duster to have the grub ready at half-past five sharp, and it's a quarter to six."
"Shan't we get into a row for cutting tea?" asked Jack.
"No fear," answered the other. "Old Ward knows where we're going; and it's all right as long as we get back before lock-up."
The confectioner's shop patronized by the Melchester boys was situated in a quiet street some five minutes' walk from the school-gates. Why the proprietor's name should have been changed from Downing to "Duster" it would be difficult to say; but as long as his customers came furnished with ready money and good appetites, the probability is that the former would have been quite content to serve them under any nickname which they chose to invent.
At the back of "Duster's" establishment was a little square parlour, where boys repaired to eat ices and drink alarming quantities of Duster's famous home-made ginger-beer—a high explosive, which always sent the cork out with a bang, and to drink two bottles of which straight off would have been a risky business for any boy to attempt without first testing the staying power of his waistcoat-buttons, and putting several bags of sand in his jacket-pockets. In this parlour it was that the literary society assembled for their banquet; as many as could find room squeezing themselves on to the two short forms on either side of the table, and the remainder camping out wherever they could find room on the chairs, window-ledge, and a small sofa. At the close of a summer day the place was decidedly hot and stuffy, and the first thing everybody did was to pull off their coats and blazers and appear in their shirt-sleeves.
Tinkleby, as president, took the post of honour at the head of the table, and hammering the festive board with his fist, called on "Duster" to "bring in the grub and something to drink." To describe the banquet itself would need an abler pen than mine. The sausages were browned to perfection, the ices were pinker than a maiden's cheek, and the ginger-beer was stronger and more filling at the price than it had ever been before, and made those who drank it gasp for breath and feel as though they had swallowed a cyclone. James, surnamed "Guzzling Jimmy," distinguished himself by finishing up with ices, and then beginning all over again with cold ham and pickles; but at length, when even he had finished, there was a general hammering of the table, and a call for "speeches."
"Well, fire away," said the president. "Who's going to start?"
"I will," cried a boy named Dorris. "Gentlemen, I beg to propose a toast—success to the Fifth Form Literary Society, and with it I couple the name of our worthy president, Mr. Tinkleby; may he live long and be happy!"