CHAPTER XIX.
THE CONSPIRATORS.
“NOW, then, Newcombe,” said Miller, as he seated himself on the grass, under one of the trees, “let us hear what you have to say.”
“Before I begin,” said Tom, “I want you to promise, that if you don’t see fit to join my enterprise, you won’t split on me.”
“Split on you!” echoed Miller. “Don’t we know, as well as you do, that it is against the laws of our society to divulge secrets? There are no tell-tales among us.”
Tom turned away his head as his companion said this, for he knew, if no one else did, that there was one tale-bearer, at least, in the society. What would Rich, and Miller, and all the other faithful Night-hawks have thought, had they known that the one who held the highest office in the gift of the organization, had been trying to better his condition by carrying tales to the principal?
“No, sir; I don’t think there is a single fellow among us who would be mean enough to split on you,” continued Miller. “If there is, I know I am not the one, for I have shown, more than once, that I can be trusted.”
“Speak it out, Newcombe,” said Rich. “We have all made solemn promises to stand by each other through thick and thin, and we are all true blue.”
“Well, to begin with,” said Tom; “I know very well that I can’t pass a decent examination, and I don’t want to be confined in the academy building, while all the other fellows are having a jolly time in camp.”
“Neither do I,” said Rich. “But we can’t help ourselves.”