The Thurstonians, however, attempting to make the most of this temporary triumph, met with an unexpected disaster, which quickly turned the changing tide of public opinion.
During a momentary pause in the hubbub which followed Thurston's address, Fletcher senior, with the usual smile upon his face, began to speak.
"Thurston has just said that as regards these rows the fault lies with the prefects, and that they are culpable in trying to shift the blame on to other fellows without first getting sufficient evidence to warrant their so doing. As one of the prefects, I think it only fair to myself to mention that I was not in favour of this meeting being called. I suggested to my friend Allingford that this matter should be allowed to rest until some inquiries had been made—"
"Stop!" cried the captain sternly. The two lines were deepening between his eyebrows, and the corners of his mouth were drawn down. The boys had seen that look before, as he stood at the wicket when runs were few and the bowling dangerous. "Stop! Speak the truth: you're not my friend."
"Allingford says we are not friends," continued the speaker, with the same eternal smile upon his lips. "I'm sorry to hear it. I know I've always tried to be his friend, ever—"
"You're lying!" interrupted the other sharply. "Take care, or I'll prove it!"
There was a dead silence all over the room. Fletcher did not know what was coming, and though he felt uneasy, he had gone too far to go back.
"I can't understand," he began, "why you should have this unkind feeling towards me. I can only repeat, in spite of what you say, that I am your friend."
"Very well," returned the other, with an angry flash in his eyes, "as it was partly an attack on myself, I had meant to have said nothing about it; but since you persist in your miserable hypocrisy, I'll expose you.—You remember," he continued, turning to the audience, and speaking with a ring of bitter scorn in his voice, "that paltry rhyme that was fastened on the notice-board after the Town match? Well, allow me to introduce you to the author of it. He was too modest to sign his name to it, but here he is, all the same—a fellow who tries to bring ridicule and contempt on his own side; who stabs a man in the dark, and in the daylight professes to be his friend."
A derisive groan rose from the crowd.