“As a matter of fact,” said Terence, at last, “there’s something on your mind, old top, and you may as well tell me what it is.”
Rouse succumbed.
He leaned forward, almost as if grateful for this touching invitation.
“Well, it’s this. Supposing the chaps get tired of all this? Supposing an agitator or two start moving about amongst them, saying: ‘Hang it all, what does it matter to you or me who the captain is? Let’s get our footer’? Supposing the masters get on to them and say: ‘Your schooldays are the happiest time of your life and they will never come again. Why starve yourselves of all that makes them most worth while just because of a silly prejudice?’ You see what I mean? Supposing they give in?”
“Well, supposing they do?”
“Nothing,” said Rouse, in a small voice; “only it would make me look rather a fool.”
“Also,” said Terence, “in the light of all they’ve said it would show that they hadn’t got much respect for the traditions of the school. You still don’t understand the temper of the school in the least or you wouldn’t talk like that. Why on earth should they give in?”
“Because,” said Rouse, “it’s my belief that there’s somebody at work trying to make them. Why,” he demanded, after a moment’s pause, “are the Head and his abominable son so suspiciously quiet? Nearly three weeks of term have gone. Why are they making no attempt to bring the chaps to heel as promised? Soon the headmasters of other schools and the parents of some of the fellows here will be writing to the Head to ask why we are not playing footer. I tell you they’re sitting quiet because they’re waiting for something to happen. I believe Henry’s right. There’s villainy afoot.”
He glared at Terence challengingly.
In the following silence there came the sound of footsteps in the passage and both looked up. The footsteps were stopping at the study door. There came a knock.